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“GOOD LUCK! 

%ui] 


TRANSLATED BY FRANCES A. SHAW 


FROM TH^ERMAN OF 

LlA^S t Clx ?0 t >'V cL. q. X 

ERNEST WERNER, 

✓7 

Author of A Hero of the Penf Herma7tnf ** At the Attar f &^e,f dr^e. 





BOSTON: 4 

JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY, 

(late TICKNOR & FIELDS, AND FIELDS, OSGOOD, Si CO.) 

1874. 


/ 




Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1874, by 
JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO., 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 


1 


Boston : 

Rand, Avery, & Co., Stereotyfers and Printers. 


“GOOD LDCK!” 


[GLUCK AUF!^] 


I. 

Although the afternoon was far 
advanced, the principal church of the 
Residence was full to overflowing. 
The great numbers present, the rich 
floral adornments of the altar, as well 
as the -long row of waiting equipages 
outside, proved that the marriage 
about to be solemnized here excited 
interest in an unusually large circle. 

The bearing of the assembly, as is 
usual on such occasions where the 
sacredness of the place forbids any 
audible expression of curiosity or 
sympathy, betrayed an expectant 
unrest. There was a whispering, a 
putting of heads together, and an 
eager attention to all that passed 
near the sacristy; until, at last, all 
ended in a general, half-suppressed 
“Ah!” of satisfaction as the doors 
were thrown open ; and, with the first 
notes of the organ, the bridal party 
entered. 

It was a large and brilliant com- 
pany that grouped around the altar 
and the bridal pair. Rich uniforms, 
heavy velvet and satin robes, rare 
costly laces, flowers and diamonds, 
all glittered, undulated, and blent 
together in a blaze of magnificence 
dazzling to behold. The aristocracy 
of birth and wealth, present here in 
its most distinguished representatives, 

* “ Good luck ! ” “ G( d speed you ! a favorite 
salutation among miners. ^ 


lent an unwonted splendor to these 
marriage-rites. 

At the right of the bride, as first 
among the guests, stood a tall, stately 
officer, whose uniform and numerous 
orders indicated a long military ca- 
reer. His bearing was simple and 
dignified, as became the solemnity of 
the occasion ; and yet it seemed as 
if the gravity of his features con- 
cealed something not in harmony 
with so joyous an event. It was a 
peculiarly melancholy glance he threw 
upon the bridal pair ; and, as his gaze 
wandered over the crowded church, a 
thrill of repressed pain or anger 
seemed to pass over the proud fea- 
tures, and the firmly-closed lips quiv- 
ered. 

Opposite him, by the bridegroom’s 
side, stood another gentleman, in the 
dress of a civilian. He was some- 
what advanced in years, and appeared 
to be one of the nearest relatives ; 
but neither the profusion of brilliants 
he displayed in watch-chain, rings, 
and breast-pin, nor the immense self- 
consciousness of his manner, could 
give him the faintest gleam of that 
distinction the man opposite pos- 
sessed in so remarkable a degree. 
His appearance was decidedly com- 
monplace, not to say vulgar ; and 
this w^as only heightened by his pres- 
ent air of unconcealed .triumph. It 
was with infinite complacency that 
he surveyed the bride and groom and 
the brilliant assemblage, — the in- 
3 


4 


GOOD LUCK. 


tense satisfaction with which one 
hails the attainment of a long-sought 
goal. For him there was no shadow 
to dim the jo}" and splendor of these 
bridal festivities. 

These two men appeared to be the 
only deeply-interested spectators of a 
marriage in which the bride and 
groom were most indifferent of all. 
The most distant of the guests could 
have shown no greater unconcern 
than did these two, who, in a few 
moments, would belong for life to 
each other. 

This young bride of nineteen 3’ears 
was undeniably a beautiful girl ; but 
there floated about her an icy atmos- 
phere, little suited to the place and 
time. The light of the altar-candles 
l^layed among the heavy folds of the 
white-satin dress, and flashed back 
from the diamonds of the costl}' 
bridal jewels ; but it fell upon a face, 
which, with the beauty of marble, 
seemed to Have received all its cold- 
ness and rigidity, at least for this 
hour, which should have animated 
even the most lifeless repose. 

The ash-blonde of the heav}' braids, 
around which lay the myrtle wreath, 
contrasted strangely with the dark 
brows and the almost black eyes 
which were raised but once or twice 
during the ceremon}^ The pale, reg- 
ular features looking out from the 
bridal veil wore that aristocratic ex- 
pression which is inborn, and can 
never be inbred. This was the ruling 
element in the bride’s appearance. 
It was betra^’ed in the delicate noble 
outlines of her face : was impressed 
upon her manner ; it was so inwoven 
into her whole being as to throw 
ever}^ other characteristic into the 
shade. 

This jmung lady seemed created to 
move onty around the heights of life, 
without ever coming in contact with 
beings of a lower sphere ; and ^^et 
there was an expression in those 
dark e^^es w’hich betra3’ed more ener- 
gy and character than w'e are wont 
to find in a lady of fashion. 

Possibty this hour demanded all 
the bride’s energ3" snd self-control ; 
for, as the ceremon3^ progressed, the 
gentleman in uniform at her right, 


I and the three 3^onng officers behind 
I him, fixed the most searching glances 
upon her face. But, through all, 
that face remained cold and impassive 
as at first. 

The bridegroom, a 3'oung man of 
some eight and twenty" 3’ears, was 
one of those individuals who seem 
created for the glittering frame of the 
salon ^ and who are of small account 
anywhere but in the fashionable 
world, where the3" celebrate their 
trimnphs, and pass their lives. 

Exquisitely elegant in dress and 
manner, he 3"et appeared blase in the 
highest degree. His refined and 
pleasing features wore an expression 
of such entire apath3', such utter in- 
difference to every earthty thing, as 
to rob them of all that could attract 
or charm. All was so lifeless, so 
colorless ! Not a breath of red in 
the cheeks, not a gleam of animation 
in the whole face, which looked as if 
neither joy nor sorrow could move it 
from its insensibility". 

As, in society", a gentleman con- 
ducts a lad3" to her place, so he had 
led his bride to the altar. Now he 
stood at her side, and held her hand 
in just the same listless, apathetic 
way. Neither the importance of the 
step he was about to take, nor the 
beauty of the woman he was to many, 
appeared to make the slightest im- 
pression upon him. 

The clergyman went on with the 
marriage-service. His voice * rang 
loud and clear through the church as 
he asked Herr Arthur Berkow and 
the Baroness Eugenie Maria Ann von 
Windeg if the3" here, in the presence 
of God and these witnesses, took 
each other for husband and wife. 

Again there was a convulsive 
movement of the officer’s features, 
and he threw a glance almost of ha- 
tred at the man opposite him. The 
next moment the double “Yes” had 
been spoken, the double vow through 
which one of the oldest, proudest 
names of the nobility" was merged in 
the plebeian mam e of Berkow. 

Scarce had the last word of the 
benediction been pronounced when 
the bejewelled gentleman rushed for- 
ward^ with the evident idea of giv- 


GOOD LUCK. 


5 


ing an ostentatious salutation to the 
newlj^-wedded pair. But the officer 
■was before him. Calmly, but with 
the manner of one who claims an 
inalienable right, he stepped between 
the two, and clasped the bride in his 
arms. But the lips which touched 
her forehead were cold ; and the face 
which for some moments bent down 
to hers bore an expression quite dif- 
ferent from its usual haughty reserve. 

“ Courage^ my father ! it must 6e.” 

The words, audible to him alone, 
recalled the baron to his self-posses- 
sion. Once again he folded his 
daughter to his heart ; and there was 
in his whole manner something like 
an entreaty for pardon. Then he 
released her from his arms, and de- 
livered her to the unavoidable em- 
brace of the other gentleman, who, 
with visible impatience, had waited 
to congratulate his “ dear daughter- 
in-law.” 

Eugenie made no resistance, for 
the eyes of the whole assembl}" were 
upon her. She stood immovable ; 
no feature of the beautiful face 
changed ; but the eyes were lifted, 
and there was in their glance such 
unapproachable pride, such icy repul- 
sion against what she could not pos- 
sibly avert, that the father-in-law, 
quite disconcerted, at once subdued 
his first violent tenderness, assuming 
in its stead a respectful courtesy. 
The embrace which followed was a 
mere form, in which Berkow’s arm 
just swept the airy folds of the bri- 
dal veil. The by no means small 
self-conceit of the new relative had 
cowered before that haughty glance. 

Young Berkow did not make mat- 
ters so difficult to his father-in-law. 
Something like a^ pressure of the 
hand, in which his white glove scarce 
came in contact with that of the 
baron, was exchanged between them. 
It appeared to quite satisfy both. 
The bridegroom now offered the bride 
his arm, and they passed down the 
aisle. The bride’s satin train swept 
the marble steps of the vestibule ; 
and behind came the gorgeous arra3^ 
of guests. Soon after the equipages, 
one after another, rolled awa3\ 

The church was quickly vao|y;ed. 


Some pressed to the doors and win- 
dows to gaze after the bridal party : 
others hurried out to exchange re- 
marks over the appearance of the 
bride and gi’ocm and wedding-guests. 
In less than ten minutes all within 
was silent and desolate. 

But the twilight gleamed through 
the lofty chancel-window, fioodiiig 
with its roseate beams altar and altar- 
paintings, so that ^e ancient figures 
on that golden gromid seemed to be 
alive. Moved, by the breeze, the 
tapers swa3"ed to and fro ; while from 
the chancel-floor exhaled the perfume 
of the flowers that had been strewn 
there with lavish hand. The ladies’ 
trains had swept over them : the gen- 
tlemen’s feet had crushed them. Of 
what account were these poor flowers 
amid the lavish diamond splendor of 
those nuptial rites wrhich had sealed 
the union of the daughter of a proud, 
hereditary race with the son of a 
millionnaire ? 

The equipages had already drawn 
up before the baronial mansion ; and 
the brilliantl^’-lighted rooms began to 
be alive with guests. In the recep- 
tion-room, amid the dazzling glow 
of wax-tapers, stood the j’oung bride, 
leaning on her husband’s arm, and 
just as proud and cold as, an hour 
ago, she had stood at the altar, and 
received the congratulations of the 
wedding-guests. 

Was it happiness her bridal vow 
had sealed? The melancholy shadow 
that would not lift from her father’s 
haughty forehead gave answer. 


II. 

“ ^ow, thank Heaven, things are 
at last in order ! and it is high time, 
for in a quarter of an hour they may 
be here. I have given the men on 
the hill exact instructions. As soon 
as the carriage comes in sight they 
are to fire the first salute.” 

“ But, Herr Director, 3’ou are too 
hast3", — too much excited.” ' 

“ Spare 3^our energies for the all- 
important moment of reception ! ” 

“ In 3^our present proud position 


6 


GOOD LUCK. 


of master of ceremonies and marshal- 
in-chief” — began another. 

“No more of your witticisms, gen- 
tlemen,” interrupted the director 
angrily : “ I wish they had honored 
one of you with this accursed post. 
I have had enough of it.” 

All the officers of the great Berkow 
mines, in full society-dress, had gath- 
ered at the foot of the terrace before 
the mansion-house. This house, 
built in the most elegant modern- 
villa style, with its costly fa9ade, its 
lofty plate-glass windows, and its 
magnificent entrance, more resem- 
bled a palace than a countiT-house. 
Broad, tasteful pleasure-grounds sur- 
rounded it, giving an impression of 
boundless wealth and lavish expendi- 
ture, which was greatly enhanced to- 
day, when all wms in gala-dress. 

The hot-houses had apparently 
jielded their choicest treasures for 
the adornment of staircases, balco- 
nies, and terraces. Rare and costl}’ 
plants, which seldom come in contact 
with the outside air, here unfolded 
their tropical splendors, and filled the 
air with their fragrance. 

Upon the velvety lawn, surrounded 
by carefullj^-tended native flowers, 
now^ in the first glories of the awaken- 
ing spring, fountains sent up their 
glittering spra3" ; and at the entrance 
to the grounds stood a grand tri- 
umphal arch, profusely" decorated with 
flags and garlands. 

“I have had enough of this!” 
repeated the director, joining the 
circle of officers. “Herr Berkow 
demands the most brilliant reception 
possible ; and believes, that for this, 
nothing is needed but unlimited ac- 
cess to his cash-box : as to the good- 
will of the miners, he never brings 
that into the account. If we onlj' 
had the miners of tw’enty ^’ears ago I 
If there was then a holiday, a festi- 
val, or even a dance, we need have 
no anxiety about the cheers : now 
there is passive inditference on the 
one side, and open hostility on the 
other. The}^ were almost ready to 
refuse our 3’oung gentleman any re- 
ception at all ! When you return to 
the Residence to-morrow, Herr Schiif- 
fer, you must be cai’eful to di’op no 


hint of matters our proprietor either 
does not or will not know.” 

“ I will be careful,” returned Herr 
Schaffer. “Would you 3’ourself like 
to encounter the flne phrases of our 
chief when he hears anjr thing dis- 
pleasing to him? In such a case, I 
get as far from him as possible.” 

The officers laughed. The absent 
chief did not seem to be the object 
of any great respect in their circle. 

‘ ‘ But he has really brought about 
this aristocratic marriage,” said the 
engineer. “ He has given himself 
no end of trouble to secure it ; and 
I really hope it will solace him for 
the loss of that patent of nobility 
they still obstinately’ refuse him in 
spite of all his schemes and eflTorts 
to obtain it. He at least has the 
triumph of seeing that the old no- 
bility no longer take otfence at his 
plebeian name, since the Windegs 
ally’ themselves with it.” 

“ They could not help it,” replied 
Herr Schaffer. “ The embarrassed 
circumstances of the Windegs are 
well known at the Residence. I 
doubt the baron’s willingness to 
sacriflce his daughter in such a spec- 
ulation. He belongs not only to the 
oldest but to the haughtiest aristoc- 
racy. Yet even he and his had tr 
bow at last to stern necessity’.” 

“Well, one thing is certain,” re- 
plied the director : ‘ ‘ this aristocratic 
alliance costs us a prodigious sum of 
money’. In any event, the baron 
has made his ow’n conditions ; and I 
cannot see the advantage of all this 
sacrifice. It still remains a daughter- 
in-law bought for her rank and name ; 
and Arthur will continue to be no 
less a plebeian, even though he has 
a wife of ancient lineage.” 

“Do you believe it?” said Herr 
Schaffer. “I think quite the con- 
trary. To the husband of the 
Baroness Windeg-Rabenau, the son- 
in-law of the baron, they will not 
refuse that title for w’hich his father 
has striven in vain ; but, let this be as 
it may, they cannot prevent his now 
associating w’ith that circle wliich has 
hitherto excluded him. Teach me 
any’ thing about our chief I He knows 
just^what this marriage will bring 


GOOD LUCK. 


7 


him, and is therefore regardless of its 
cost.” 

One of the officers, a young, very 
blonde, man, with tightly-fitting 
dress-coat and faultless kid gloves, 
here thought proper to make a remark. 

‘‘I cannot understand why our 
bride and groom make their wedding- 
tour to this out-of-the-way place, and 
not to the land of poesy — to Ita- 

ly”- 

The engineer laughed aloud. ‘‘No 
more of that, Wilberg ! Poesy in 
this marriage between money and 
rank! Besides, wedding - tours to 
Italy are so much the fashion, that 
they must seem plebeian to Heri’ Ber- 
kow. The aristocracy go to their 
estates to pass the honeymoon ; and, 
above all things, we must and will be 
aristocratic I ” 

“I fear there are more serious 
reasons,” said the director. “ The 
young gentleman might run the same 
career in Rome or Naples that he 
ran last year at the Residence ; and 
it was high time to put an end to 
such extravagance. His expendi- 
tures at length rose into the hun- 
dred thousands. One can exhaust a 
fountain ; and HeiT Arthur was in a 
fair wav to try this experiment for his 
father.” 

HeiT Schaffer’s thin lips curled de- 
risively. “ The father reared his son 
in this way,” he said : “he only 
reaps what he has sown. But you 
may be right. In a solitude like this, 
a man may perhaps sooner learn to 
yield to the control of a 5^oung wife. 
But I fear that this wife, with her 
small enthusiasm, undertakes no en- 
viable task.” 

“ Do you believe she has been co- 
erced into the marriage ? ” asked 
Wilberg eagerly. 

“ Oh, no I not at all. Things in our 
day are not so tragically carried on. 
A little sensible persuasion, a clear 
insight into circumstances, brought it 
all about ; and I have no doubt this 
marriage of convenience will in the 
end turn out to be quite endurable, 
as in most such cases.” 

The blonde Herr Wilberg, who ap- 
parently had a passion for the tragic, 
moui’nfully shook his head. , 


“Ah, I fear not! If only, later, 
the true love awakes in this young 
w'oman’s heart, — if another — my 
God, Hartmann ! couldn’t you lead 
3"our men through another route ? 
You are enveloping us all in a cloud 
of dust ! ” 

The 3"Oung miner Hartmann, who 
was passing at the head of a column 
of some fifty of his comrades, turned 
and threw a scornful glance upon the 
gala dress of the speaker, and then a 
second upon the dusty highway, where 
the rough shoes of the miners cer- 
tainly raised a cloud of dust. 

‘ ‘ Right — about — face ! ” com- 
manded he, deigning no reply to 
Wilberg. The men obeyed ; and with 
military precision turned and took 
the designated course. 

“ A bear, — this Hartmann ! ” said 
Wilberg, brushing his coat with his 
handl^erchief. “ Had he even a word 
of apology for his rudeness ! ‘ Right 

— about — face,’ he said, with a tone 
of command, as if he was a general 
at the head of his army ! And what 
airs he gives himself! If his father 
had not interfered, he wouldn’t have 
allowed Martha Ewers to recite my 
poem in honor of the bride, — my 
poem that I ” — 

“ Have already read to all tho 
world,” added the chief engineer, turn- 
ing to the director. “If it was only 
shorter ! But our poet is right : it 
was a piece of impudence for Hart- 
mann to forbid the recital . Y ou should 
not have posted him and his men just 
here. We need not expect them to 
take part in the reception : they, are 
the most obstinate fellows in the 
whole works.” 

“ And also the most statety,” said 
the director. “ I have stationed all 
the others upon the route and in the 
village : the elite of our workmen be- 
long to the triumphal arch. On such 
occasions, we want to make the best 
show possible with our men.” 

The 3'Oung miner Hartmann had 
meantime posted his comrades around 
the triumphal arch. The director 
jvas right : he was a stately fellow, 
towgring at least a head above all his 
men. He was a powerful, strongly- 
built figure, and looked especially 


8 


GOOD LUCK. 


distinguished in his dark miner’s 
dress. According to the strict rules 
of beaut}’, his face could not be called 
handsome : the forehead was some- 
what too low, the lips too full, the 
lineaments not suflicieiitly noble. 
But these sharp, clearly-cut features 
were not commonplace. Flaxen, 
curling hair clustered thick around 
the broad, massive forehead ; while a 
wavy tlaxen beard covered the lower 
part of the face, whose bronzed, 
healthy complexion did not betray its 
frequent withdrawal from the light 
and sunshine. The lips were curled 
in defiance ; and in the blue, sullen 
eyes lay a something indescribable, — 
an expression coimnon natures at 
once felt and respected as superioritjx 
Embodied energy spoke from this 
man’s whole being ; and, little sympa- 
th}’ as his rigid bearing might awaken, 
at the first glance 3’ou felt his power. 

All elderly man, who, although he 
wore the miner’s dress, did not seem 
to belong to the workmen, now 
appeared,’ accompanied by a 3’oung 
girl. 

“ Good luck to you, comrades ! ” he 
said : ‘ ‘ how is Ulrich ? is eveiy thing 
in order ? ” Ulrich nodded assent ; 
while the men answered his salu- 
tation b}^ a hearty “ Gluck auf, Herr 
Overseer ! ” But the glances of most 
turned to his 3’oung companion. 

This young girl of twent}’ 3’ears 
W’as really very prett}^ ; and the peas- 
ant-costume of that region became her 
charmingl}’. Rather in stature, 
her crown scarce reached to the shoul- 
der of the giant Hartmann ; heav}’, 
dark braids surrounded lier fresh, 
slightl}’ sunbiu-ned face, with its 
blooming cheeks and clear blue e3’es. 
Her form was robust, but 3’et grace- 
ful. 

She made a gesture as if to reach 
her hand to Ulrich ; but, as he re- 
mained standing with folded arms, 
her own fell quickly. The overseer 
remarked this, and fixed a sharp 
glance upon both. 

“ Are 3’ou in a bad humor because 
3’ou couldn’t have 3’our own way fou 
this once?” he asked. “Console 
3’ourself, Ulrich : it seldom enough 
happens ; but, when you go too far, 


3"Our father must inteipose with his 
authorit}’.” 

“If I had an}^ thing to say to 
Martha, I should say it,” replied 
Ulrich decidedly ; and his morose 
glance swept over the bouquet of rare 
hot-house flowers in her hand. 

“ I believe 3’ou,” returned the old 
man: “it would be just like 3’OU. 
But Martha is my sister’s child, and 
must obey me. What is the matter 
with 3’our triumphal arch up there? 
The flag-staff has sunken : fasten it 
up again, or the structure will fall.” 

Ulrich, to whom this w’arning was 
evidently addressed, threw an indif- 
ferent glance up to the threatened 
garlands, but made no motion to 
come to their help. 

“Do 3’OU not hear?” asked the 
father impatientl}’. 

“It is m}^ business to keep watch 
up here, not to stand b}^ the arch,” 
replied Ulrich. 

“ Can’t 3’OU let the old grudge rest 
to-da}’ ? ” asked the overseer angril}’. 
“ Well, one of 3’ou others attend to 
matter.” 

The miners glanced at Ulrich, as if 
waiting a word of assent from him, 
but none was given. Only one of 
the men moved as if to accede to the 
overseer’s request. The young 
leader turned and gazed at him. It 
was but a single glance out 'of those 
stern blue e3’es ; but it had the effect 
of a command. Every man at once 
stepped back ; not another hand 
moved. 

“ I wish it would fall on 3’our ob- 
stinate head ! ” cried the overseer in 
a rage, while with, 3’outhfdf alacrity, 
he himself climbed up and bound the 
flag-staff. “Perhaps 3’ou would then 
learn how folks ought to behave at a 
festival ; and 3’ou have spoiled Lo- 
renz, who used to be the best of 3’ou ; 
but now he only does what his lord 
and master Ulrich commands.” 

“ Ought we to rejoice that a new 
aristocrat is coming to rule here ? ” 
asked Ulrich in a low tone. “I 
thought we had had enough of the old 
one.” 

The overseer, busied with the . flag- 
staff, did not hear this remark ; but 
Martha, who had stood silent at one 


GOOD LUCK. 


9 


side, turned quickly around, and 
threw an anxious glance up to the 
arch. “ Help him, Ulrich, I beg 
you ! ” she said. 

The obstinate young man made no 
answer; but his features were not a 
shade milder or more compliant. 
The girl stood motionless before him. 
She evidently wished to say some- 
thing, but was half afraid. At 
length she spoke softl}^, — 

“ And will you really not come to 
the festival to-night ? 

“ Ab.'” 

“ Ulrich ! ’’ 

“Leave me alone, Martha! You 
know I do not like 3*our dancing 
foolery ! ” 

Martha started back ; but her red 
lips curled in scorn, and the moist 
glimmer in her eyes was more tears 
of anger than of sorrow at her 
cousin’s rudeness. 

Ulrich did not remark this. He 
did not seem to trouble himself much 
about the girl. AVithout a, word fur- 
ther, she turned her back to him, and 
went in another direction. The eyes 
of the young man, who had at last 
found courage to help about the llag- 
stalf, followed her continually. He 
would no doubt have given much if 
the invitation had been to him rather 
than to Ulrich, who had declined it 
so indifferently. 

Meantime, the overseer had come 
down, and was regarding his work with 
great complacency , when the first salute 
echoed from the hill. It was followed 
by a second and a third. This signal 
of the arrival of the long-expected 
bride and groom, as may be supposed, 
caused a great flutter. The officers 
were in lively commotion. The di- 
, rector once more scanned his prepa- 
rations. The chief engineer and 
Herr Schaffer buttoned their gloves, 
and AVilberg hurried over to Martha 
to ask for perhaps the twentieth time 
if she was sure she knew his verses, — 
if there was really not danger, lest, by 
some untimely fright, she might peril 
his poetie triumph. Even the miners 
betra3’ed some curiosit}^ to see this 
3'Oung and beautiful woman, their 
future mistress. More than one 
tightened his leather belt, and 


pressed his hat down over his fore- 
head. Ulrich alone stood quite un- 
moved, just as dumb and scornful as 
before, and threw not even a glance 
in the direction of the coming guests. 

But the reception, arranged with so 
much expense and trouble, was to 
turn out quite otherwise than could 
have been hoped. A cry of horror 
from the overseer, who stood outside 
the arch, drew all glances in that di- 
rection ; and what they saw was terri- 
ble enough. 

Down the declivity leading to the 
village dashed, or rather a coach, 

whose horses had become utterl}’ un- 
manageable. Frightened probably at 
the salute, they stormed onward, 
swaying the coach hither and thither, 
over the uneven road, and threaten- 
ing every moment to rush with it 
over the precipice to the right, or 
hurl it against the giant trees at the 
left. 

The coachman had lost all presence 
of mind. He had let go the reins, 
and in mortal terror was clinging to 
his seat. From the hill, where the 
intervening trees shut out the sight 
of what had happened, still crashed 
shot after shot, goading the terrified 
animals to still greater fur}’. The 
fearful end of this mad journey was 
only too evident. The catastrophe 
must come at the bridge below. 

The throng of people gathered in 
front of the house did what such 
throngs are wont to do on like occa- 
sions. They shrieked aloud with 
terror, and ran helplessly up and 
down. It never occurred to one of 
them to offer the needed assistance : 
even among the miners, so accus- 
tomed to scenes of danger, no one 
seemed to have retained his pres- 
ence of mind. 

Ah ! but there was one. Taking in 
the magnitude of the danger at a 
glance, to hurl aside his father and 
his comrades, to rush forward, was 
for Ulrich but the work of a moment. 
In three bounds he had reached the 
bridge. An agonized ciy from IMar- 
tha followed him. Too late : lie had 
alreg,^’ thrown himself in front of 
the horses,'!t^nd seized the reins. The 
frightened d^^mals reai’cd, and then 


10 


GOOD LUCK. 


rushed forward with new impetuosity, 
carrying Ulrich along with them. 
Any other man would have been 
trodden under foot ; but Ulrich’s 
giant strength ere long prevailed. A 
powerful jerk at the reins, from which 
he had not for a moment loosed his 
hold, caused one of the horses to 
stumble. He fell, and dragged down 
the other with him. The coach re- 
mained standing. 

The 5’oung miner darted up the 
steps, in certain anticipation of find- 
ing the occupants of the coach, the 
lady at least, in a state of uncon- 
sciousness. This was the usual re- 
source of aristocrats in the face of 
danger. But there was no swooning 
here, where, if in any place in life, 
swooning might have been justifiable. 
The .young lady stood upright in 
the coach, convulsively clinging to 
the back of her seat with both 
hands, her wide-open, stony e3"es 
fixed upon the precipice down which 
next moment the}" were almost cer- 
tain to be dashed ; but not a sjdlable, 
not one cry of terror, passed her 
firml^'-closed tips. Read}*, when 
things came to the worst, to make a 
spring which would have been certain 
destruction, she had looked death 
calmly in the face, and her counte- 
nance showed that she had done so 
with the fullest self-possession. 

The animals were yet struggling 
upon the ground, and the danger was 
still great. Ulrich hastily took the 
lady in his arms, and bore her from 
the carriage. It required only a few 
seconds to carry her over the bridge ; 
but during that short space she fixed 
h(ir dark eyes upon the man who with 
such contempt of death had thrown 
himself under the horse’s hoofs ; and 
his glancef^oo, swept that beautiful, 
pale face which had so courageously 
met danger. This man had never 
before felt a soft, glistening silk dress 
in his arms, or a fleecy white veil flut- 
tering over his shoulder : a flush of 
embarrassment overspread his face ; 
and he hastily, almost violently, set 
the lady down on the other end of the 
bridge. 

Eugenie was still trembling, and 
now her lips parted for a deep sigh of 


relief ; but this was the only sign of 
the agony she had endured. 

‘‘I — I thank you.” she said. 
“ Will you now look after Herr Ber- 
kow ? ” 

Ulrich, who had been just about to 
do this, now paused unwittingly. 

“Will you look after Herr Ber- 
kow ? ” said the young wife in a mo- 
ment when any other woman in agon- 
izing cries would have called after 
her husband ; and she said it very 
coolly, very calmly. The young man 
remembered the words the otficers 
had spoken about this marriage, and 
went to look after Herr Berkow. 

He needed no help. He had al- 
ready left the carriage, and was com- 
ing over the bridge. Arthur Berkow, 
even in this catastrophe, had not 
belied his passive, indiiferent nature. 
When the danger had come so unex- 
pectedly, and his young wife had 
made a motion as if to spring from 
the carriage, he had only placed his 
hand upon her arm, and said in a low 
voice, “Keep your seat, Eugenie! 
You are lost if you venture to spring 
out I ” 

Not another word or syllable had 
been exchanged between them. 
While Eugenie stood upright in the 
coach looking fim help, and resolved 
at the last moment to make the dan- 
gerous spring, Arthur remained im- 
movable in his place ; but, as they 
neared the bridge, he had for one 
short moment placed his hand over 
his eyes, expecting, no doubt, the 
next instant to be dashed in pieces. 

Now he stood leaning against the 
railing of the bridge, perhaps a trifle 
paler than usual, but without trem- 
bling, without any visible token of 
excitement. Whether he really felt 
none, or whether he controlled it, 
eveij^ now, Ulrich must confess that 
there was something unusual in his 
apathy. The young heir had just 
looked death in the face ; and now 
he looked at Ulrich as if that man 
who had rescued him from mortal 
danger was a sort of incomprehensi- 
ble curiosity. 

The now rather superfluous assist- 
ance came from all sides. Twenty 
hands were at once raised to lift up 


GOOD LUCK. 


11 


the prostrate horses, and to help 
down the coachman who was almost 
senseless from fright. The whole 
tide of officials rushed forward, and 
overwhelmed the bride and groom 
with all sorts of expressions of con- 
dolence and S3Tnpath3^ They vied 
with each other in offers of help ; 
they could not imagine how the acci- 
dent had happened ; they blamed the 
shots, the horses, and the coachman 
by turns. Arthur for some moments 
endured all this passivel3", then he 
made an evasive gesture. 

“ No more, gentlemen, I implore 
3"Ou ! You see we are both unharmed. 
Let us, above all things, get to the 
house.” He offered his arm to Eu- 
genie to ^conduct her there; but she 
lingered and gazed around. 

“ And our rescuer? I hope noth- 
ing has happened to him.” 

“Ah, 3^es, your rescuer! I had 
almost forgotten him,” said the di- 
rector, somewhat embarrassed. “ It 
was Hartmann w’ho held the horses. 
Hartmann, where are 3'ou?” 

The man called did not answer ; 
but Wilberg, who, in his admiration 
for the romantic deed, quite forgot 
his recent spite against the doer, 
cried eager 13’-, “There he stands, up 
there I ” and hastened to the 3*oung 
miner, who stepped back as the officers 
crowded around him, and now stood 
leaning against a tree. 

“Hartmann, 3'ou should — heav- 
ens 1 what is the matter with 3"ou ? 
You are as pale as death ; and where 
dbes that blood come from ? ” 

Ulrich was evidently struggling 
with a mortal faintness ; but still an 
angry flush passed over his face, as 
Wilberg made a movement to support 
him. Enraged at being seen in an3" 
, thing so like a swoon, he hastily col- 
lected himself, rose to his full height, 
and pressed his clinched hands 
against his bleeding forehead. “ It 
is nothing at all, — a mere scratch,” 
he said. “ If 1 01113’ had a handlierchief.” 

Wilberg was just to offer his, when 
'? suddenly a silk dress rustled near 
I him. The young Frau Berkow stood 
at his side, and, without a word, 
reached her own handkerchief edged 
with costlj* lace. 


The Baroness Windeg could never 
have been called upon to offer help to 
the wounded, else she would have 
known that this tiny, elegantly em- 
broidered cambric handkerchief was 
little designed to stay the blood, 
which, as 3’et kept back by the 
thick masses of flaxen hair-, now 
welled forth in a torrent. dJlrich, 
too, must have known this better than 
she : still, as if without knowing it, 
he reached his hand for the proffered 
handkerchief. 

“ Thanks, 3’our lad3’ship ; but that 
will not be of much use,” said the 
overseer, who now stood at his son’s 
side, with his arm around his shoul- 
der. “ Hold still, Ulrich ! ” So say- 
ing, he drew forth his own coarse 
linen handkerchief, and pressed it 
against the apparently deep wound. 

Arthur Berkow now came up, ac- 
companied by the other officers. “ Is 
it really dangerous ? ” he asked in a 
drawling tone. 

With a start, Ulrich broke loose 
from his father, and stood erect, the 
blue e3’es flashing scorn and defiance, 
as he replied, “ Not at all dangerous ; 
no one need trouble himself about it ; 
I can help myself.” 

The words sounded rather disre- 
spectful, 3’et the service just rendered 
had been too great for any one to re- 
prove him. As for Arthur Berkow, he 
seemed only too glad that the answer 
‘relieved him of all further trouble. 

“ I will send m3" ph3'sician to 3’ou,” 
he said in his listless, indifferent way ; 
‘ ‘ but our thanks are still due you. 
For the present, there is help enough. 
Shall we go, Eugenie? ” 

The young wife took the offered 
arm ; but once more she turned her 
head to see if the needed help was 
really there. It seemed ^ that the 
manner in which her husband had 
treated the affair did not meet her 
approval. 

“ Our whole reception is a failure,” 
said Wilberg despondentl3", as he, a 
few minutes later, joined the oflEicers 
who had accompanied 3’oung Berkow 
and his bride to the house. 

“And 3"our poem also!” replied 
the chief engineer. ‘ ‘ Who now thinks 
of verses and flowers ? And to any 


12 


GOOD LUCK. 


one who believes in omens, this first 
entrance to the new home does not 
seem especially propitious, — mortal 
danger, wounds, blood ; but this is a 
romance just in your st3de, Wilberg. 
You can compose a ballad about it, 
onl}" 3’ou will be forced, for this once, 
to make Hartmann 3'our hero.” 

“And he is, and alwa3’s will re- 
main, a bear!” cried Wilberg excit- 
edly. “ Could he not even give our 
lad3' a w'ord of thanks as she offered 
him her own handkerchief? And 
how rude he w^as to Herr Berkow ! 
But this man has a giant nature. 
When I asked him why in God’s 
name he had not sooner bound up 
his wound, he answered laconicall3' 
that he had not until just then re- 
marked it. The idea ! He received a 
blow on the head which would have 
knocked an3' one of us senseless ; but 
he first stops the horses, lifts the lad3' 
out of the coach, and does not remark 
that he is wounded until the blood 
gushes out in a torrent ! ” 

The miners, meanw^hile, remained 
with their comrade. The manner in 
which theTuture chief had expressed 
his thanks to Hartmann had deepl3' 
wounded them. There w^ere maii^’ 
morose faces, nian3" indignant, cutting 
remarks : even the overseer had not 
now, as usual, an excuse for the 3’oung 
gentleman. He was still occupied in 
staying the blood from his son’s wound, 
and Martha was assisting him. 

This 3mung girl’s face wore such a 
look of unmistakable anguish, that 
Ulrich must have noticed it if his 
e3ms had not been turned in an oppo- 
site direction. It wms a strangely 
intent and bitter glance w^hich he sent 
after Arthur Berkow and the depart- 
ing officers. He was evidently think- 
ing of something quite other than the 
pain of the wound. 

As he was about to bind a bandage 
around the still bleeding forehead, 
the overseer remarked that his son 
still held the lace handkerchief. 

“This spider’s web” — the old 
man’s voice had an unusuall3" bitter 
tone — ‘ ‘ this embroidered spider’s 
wmb must have been of great use to 
us I Give it to Martha, my son : she 
can return it to our lad}’.” 


Ulrich glanced down at the hand- 
kerchief, wdiich, soft and fragrant as 
a zeph3T lay between his fingers ; but, 
as Martha would take it, he started, 
and, hastity pressing it against the 
wound, djmd the delicate lace blood- 
red. 

‘ ‘ What are 3mu doing ? ”, cried the 
father, both surprised and angiy. 
“ Would 3'ou bandage this deep hole 
in 3mur head wuth that gauzy thing ? 
I thought we had bandages enough.” 

“Ah, 3^es, I did not think of 
that I ” returned Ulrich hesitatingl3X 
“Let.it alone, Martha !” and, with- 
out another word, he tucked the 
handkerchief into his blouse pocket. 
The hands of the girl, until now so 
active, sank helpless^, and she 
looked or motionless as the father 
arranged the bandage. She fixed her 
e3ms inquiringl3" upon Ulrich’s face. 
Wh}^ did he wush to render the costly 
rag useless? Would he, i^erhaps, 
not give it back ? 

Young Hartmann seemed to have 
little talent for the sick role. He had 
alread3^ showm himself ver3" impatient 
at the abundant offers of help : now 
he started up, and declared, once for 
all, that it was enough ; he would be 
left in peace. 

“ Let him be, the stubborn fel- 
low ! ” said the overseer : “we can do 
nothing with him until we hear what 
the doctor §a3’s. You are m3" right 
hand, Ulrich ! You wmuld not help 
build the triumphal arch in honor of 
the 3'oung master and mistress ; that 
would be too humiliating ! but 3"ou 
could throw 3-ourself befoi’e the horses 
that were running awa3^ with that 
same master and mistress, and not 
trouble 3"ourself in the least about 
the old father, w"ho has nothing but 
3"Ou in the whole world ! Consisten- 
cy, I suppose you call that in your 
new-fashioned language ! Well, 3-011 
others, — • 3-011 wmuld follow 3"our lord 
and master in all things, — it can 
really be no shame to 3"Ou if 3-011 
pattern after him in courage.” 

And with these w-ords, which, in 
spite of their pretended resentment, 
veiy plainty showed pride in his son, 
and tenderness for him, the old man 
took Ulrich’s arm, and led him awa3-. 


GOOD LUCK. 


13 


III. 

It was early evening. The festivi- 
ties upon the Berkow estates, at least 
so far as the young master and mikress 
could iKirticipate in them, were at an 
end. After the threatened catastro- 
phe had been so happily averted, and 
the excitement it had caused had died 
away, the original programme had 
been conscientious!}* carried out.. Now, 
at last, Arthur and Eugenie, whose 
attention had been engross(xl on every 
side, found themselves alone. Herr 
Schaffer, who was to return to-mor- 
row to the Residence, had just taken 
his leave ; and a servant, after having 
arranged the tea-table, had. left the 
room. 

The lamp, burning upon the table, 
threw its clear, mild light upon the 
pale-blue damask tapestry and the ex- 
pensively covered furniture of this 
little parlor, which like the other 
apartments of the house, had been 
newly and magnificently furnished for 
the reception of the bride. 

This parlor belonged to her own 
suite of rooms. The closely-drawn 
silk curtains quite excluded the gaze 
of the outside world f flowers exhaled 
their perfume from 'costly vases ; and, 
upon a table before 'the little corner 
sofa, stood a silver tea-service, a pic- 
ture of quiet, harmonious domestic 
life, in the midst of all this splendor. 

But this household comfort seemed 
to have no spell to charm the young 
married pair. The bride, still in full 
society-dress, stood in the middle of 
the room, holding in her hand the 
bouquet which Wilberg, in Martha’s 
stead, had had the happiness of pre- 
senting her. The perfiune of the 
orange-blossoms so absorbed her, 
that she had not the slightest atten- 
tion left to bestow upon her husband, 
who, in fact, did not demand such at- 
tention ; for scarce had the door closed 
behind the servant, when, with an ex- 
pression of utter wearmess, he sanli 
pon f\. fauteuil. 

‘ ‘ This eternal parade and ceremo- 
ny is really killing ! Do you not find 
li so, Eugenie ? Since yesterday noon 
aey have not allowed us a minute’s 


peace ! First the marriage, then the 
dinner, then that awfully tiresome rail 
and extra post-chaise journey, which 
took all night and the next forenoon ; 
then that tragic interlude ; here again, 
receptions, introduction to officers, 
dinner, — my papa, when he sketched 
the programme of these festivities, 
seems not at all to have thought that 
we possessed any such thing as nerves. 
Mine, I confess, are all unstrung.” 

The young wife turned her head, 
and threw a very contemptuous glance 
upon the man, who, at this their first 
solitary interview, spoke to her of his 
nerves. Eugenie seemed not at all 
acquainted with this malady. Her 
beautiful face wore not the slightest 
trace of exhaustion. 

“Have you heard whether young 
Hartmann’s wound is dangerous?” 
she asked, instead of answering her 
husband. 

Arthur seemed surprised that no 
notice was taken of his exceptionally 
long speech. “ Schaffer says it is not 
of much account,” replied he indiffer- 
ently. “He has, I believe, spoken 
with the physician. And now it oc- 
curs to me, we must make the young 
man some recompense. I will have 
the director see about it.” 

‘ ‘ Ought you not to attend to the 
matter personally ? ” 

“I? — No, spare me that! As I 
incidentally hear, he is not a common 
workman, but the son of the overseer 
of the mines, — a master-miner or 
sometliing of that sort. How can I 
know whether money or a present 
would be most in place here? The 
director will arrange all this in the 
best manner.” 

He let his head sink still farther 
back upon the cushions. Eugenie 
made no reply. She sat down on the 
sofa, and rested her head upon her 
hand. After a pause of some min- 
utes, it seemed to occur to Arthur that 
he owed his wife some attention, and 
that he could not with propriety, dur- 
ing the whole tea-hour, bury himself 
in his fauteuil. It cost him some ef- 
fort certainly ; but he made the sacri- 
fice, and really arose. Sitting down 
by his wife’s side, he allowed himself 
to clasp her hand, and even went so 


14 


GOOD LUCK. 


far as to try to place his arm around 
her waist ; but it remained only an 
effort. With a passionate gesture, 
Eugenie withdrew her hand, and turned 
from him. At the same time she 
gave him that very glance which had 
so deeply wounded his father in the 
church at his first embrace of his 
daughter-in-law. It was the same ex- 
pression of icy, proud repulsion, which, 
better than words, said, “ I am unap- 
proachable for thee and thine ! ” 

It appeared far more easy to im- 
press the father with this aristocratic 
manner than the son ; perhaps be- 
cause the son no longer allowed him- 
self to be impressed by any thing. He 
looked neither confounded nor intimi- 
dated at this token of an only too 
plainl}' expressed aversion : still, some- 
what astonished, he asked, — 

“Is this disagreeable to you, Eu- 
genie ? ” 

Unusual at least! You have 
hitherto spared me all this.” 

The 3'oung man was much too 
apathetic to comprehend the deep bit- 
terness of these words : he appeared 
to take them as a sort of reproach. 

'‘’‘Hitherto?^ Yes, etiquette was 
somewhat stnctty enforced in your 
father’s house. During our two months 
engagement, I never once had the 
happiness of seeing 3’ou alone : the 
constant presence of your father or 
brothers placed a constraint upon us, 
which at the present undisturbed in- 
terview may well be removed.” 

Eugenie again drcAv back, and in 
the iciest tone said, “ Let me declare 
to 3'ou, at this the first hour we have 
been left to ourselves, that I have no 
liking for expressions of fondness giv- 
en because custom demands them, and 
in which the heart has no share. I, 
for all time, release 3’ou from this ob- 
ligation.” 

Astonishment was still more vividl3’ 
impressed upon Arthur’s features ; 3^et 
he did not allow himself to be excited. 

“You seem to be in a strange 
mood to-day ; ” he said. “ Custom — 
heart ! — Really, Eugenie, I believed 
that with you, least of all, one need 
have fear of romantic illusions.” 

An expression of intense bitterness 
passed over the 3’oung bride’s fea- 


tures. “ I renounced all my youthful 
illusions the moment I j^romised 3’ou 
m3" hand. You and 3"our father, — 3’ou 
would, at any cost, connect 3'our name 
with the noble old name of Windeg, 
and thereby force entrance into circles 
hitherto strictl3" closed to 3'ou. * Well, 
now, 3’ou have won 3^our goal. My 
name is Eugenie Berkow I ” 

She laid an infinitely scornful em- 
phasis upon that last w'ord. Arthur 
had risen : he seemed at length to 
comprehend that here there was some- 
thing more to deal with than the ill- 
humor of a 3"oung wife, called forth, 
perhaps, b3’ his neglect on the journey. 

“You certainty df not appear to 
love this name much 1 I had not sup- 
posed that compulsion on the part of 
3’our famity had led 3^ou to take it ; 
but now it seems to me” — 

“ No one compelled me,” interrui^t- 
ed Eugenie emphaticalty. “No one 
used over-persuasion. What I did 
was of m3’ own free will, with the full 
consciousness of what I was taking 
upon m3’self. It was bitter enough 
for m3’ famil3^ to have me make this 
sacrifice for them.” 

Arthur shrugged his shoulders. His 
face showed that the conversation al- 
read3" began to weary him. 

“I do not understand why you take 
a simple famity’ arrangement ^ tragi- 
calty. If m3’ father in this matter 
had ulterior plans in view, the baron’s 
motives were certainty- of a no more 
romantic nature ; only he might pre- 
sumably have more pressing reasons 
for the conclusion of an engagement 
in w’hich he certainty was not the los- 
ing part3’.” 

Eugenie started up ; her e3’es flashed ; 
and with a passionate movement she 
threw the fragrant bouquet from the 
table to the floor. 

“And 3’ou dare say this to me, 
after what happened before your woo- 
ing ? I believed that you must blush 
at this if you realty were capable of 
blushing ! ” 

The dull, half-veiled e3’es of the 
young man suddenly’ opened wide : 
under their ashes there glowed some- 
thing like fire ; but his voice retained 
its languid, indifferent tone. 

“I must beg you to speak more 


GOOD LUCK. 


15 


plainly: I cannot understand your 
enigmatical words.” 

Eugenie, with a passionate gesture, 
crossed her arms : her breast rose and 
fell in stormy emotion. 

“ You know as well as I,” she said, 
“ that we stood on the brink of ruin ! 
As to whom we owed this, I cannot 
and must not judge. It is easy to 
fling stones at the man who is strug- 
gling with destiny. If one inherits 
0 his famil}^ estates encumbered, if he 
must uphold the lustre of an ancient 
name, maintain his position in the 
world, and secure the future of his 
children, he cannot heap up wealth 
like the Berkows in their plebeian gains. 

‘‘You have squandered money from 
full hands ; you have had every wish 
fulfilled, every caprice gratified. I 
have tasted the whole misery of a life 
which feigns, and must feign, outward 
splendor to the world, while every 
day, every hour, brings it nearer to 
inevitable ruin. Perhaps we might 
still have escaped, if we had not fall- 
en into your father’s net. He, from 
the first, pressed his assistance upon 
* us, urged it so persistent!}", that at 
last he had all in his hands, and we, 
hunted, entangled, despairing, knew no 
way of escape. Then he came, and 
demanded my hand for his son, as the 
only price of rescue. My father 
would rather have borne the utmost 
than sacrifice me ; but I would not sqe 
him sacrificed, forced from his career. 
I would not destroy the future of my 
brothers, and see our name dishon- 
ored; and so I gave my consent. 

, What it cost me, no one of my family 
u will ever know ; but, if I sold myself, 
'J I can answer for it to God and my 
own conscience. You, who submit- 
ted to be a tool in cariying out the ig- 
noble plans of 3*our father, — you have 
no right to reproach me : my motives 
were at least more honorable than 
' 3"our|.” 

She was silent, overpowered by ex- 
citements Her husband still stood mo- 
tionless before her : his face again 
showed the slight paleness it had worn 
at midday as he had just been rescued 
from danger, but the eyes were again 
veiled. 



these explanations before our mar- 
riage,” he said slowly. 

“ Wherefore?” 

“ Because you would then have been 
saved from the humiliation of being 
called Eugenie Berko w.” 

The 3’oung wife was silent. 

“I had indeed no suspicion of 
these manipulations of my father,” 
continued Arthur, “ as I am accus- 
tomed to keep myself entirely aloof 
from his business affairs. He said to 
me one day, that if I would go to 
Baron Windeg, and sue for his daugh- 
ter’s hand, my proposal would be 
accepted. I consented to the arrange- 
ment, and went through with the for- 
mality of an introduction, followed in 
a few days by a betrothal. That is 
my share in the matter.” 

Eugenie turned away her head. “ I 
would have preferred an open confes- 
sion of your joint knowledge of the 
transaction, to this fable,” returned she 
coldly. 

Again the j^oung man’s eyes opened, 
and again glimmered in them that 
strange spark, which seemed about to 
burst into flame, and yet was stifled 
by the ashes. 

“ And I stand so high In^the esti- 
mation of my wife, that she cannot 
even believe my word?” said he, this 
time with a decided touch of bitter- 
ness. 

Eugenie’s beautiful face, which she 
now turned to her husband, wore an 
expression of the deepest scorn ; and 
the same expression was in her voice 
as she replied, — 

“ You must forgive me, Arthur, if I 
place no great confidence in 3'ou. 
From that day when you for the first 
time entered our house, and for a pur- 
pose of which I am only too well 
aware, until now, I have only known 
you from the speech of the Residence, 
and this ” — 

‘ ‘ Painted my picture in no flatter- 
ing way ! I can imagine that. Will 
3"ou have the goodness to tell me what 
the Residence was really pleased to 
sa}" about me ? ” 

The 3"oung wife fixed her large e3"es 
reproachfully upon her husband’s face. 
“They said that Arthur Berkow in- 
dulged in a princely expenditm’e, 


16 


GOOD LUCK. 


s(xuandered thousands upon thousands 
to purchase the society and friendship 
of the 3'oung nobilit}", and thereby 
make the world forget his plebeian 
birth. They said, that, in the wild, 
unbridled life of a certain circle, his 
life was wildest and most unbridled 
of’ all. What else they said about 
him does not lie within the range of a 
woman’s criticism.” 

Arthur’s hand, still resting on the 
arm of the fauteuil against which he 
leaned, had, during these last words, 
involuntarily clutched at the velvet 
upholstery. 

“And 3'ou naturally do not deem 
it worth your while to attempt the ref- 
ormation of a reprobate over whom 
public opinion has already broken its 
staff ? ” 

It rang icy cold, this no. A slight 
quiver passed over the young man’s 
face, but he quickly subdued it. 

“ You are more than open-hearted ! 
Yet it is alwa3’s a good thibg to know 
how people stand in relation to each 
other ; and as we now st^nd so we 
must remain. The step taken 3’ester- 
da3' cannot be recalled, at least not 
immediatel3", without exposing us both 
to ridicule. If 3’ou provoked this 
scene to show me that I, in spite of 
the plebeian presumption which won 
3mur hand b3^ force, must keep m3’self 
as far as possible aloof from the Bar- 
oness Windeg, — and I fear this alone 
was 3mur intention, — 3’'ou have won 
your goal ; but ” — here Arthur again 
relapsed into his old drawling, blase 
tone — “ but I beg 3'ou let this be the 
first and last of that sort of thing be- 
tween us. I detest all kinds of scenes ; 
1113^ nerves cannot endure them ; and 
life ma3" be regulated so as to avoid 
these unnecessar3^ ecliauffements. For 
the present, I believe I best carr3" out 
3’our wishes 1)3^ leaving 3mu alone. 
You will excuse me if I withdraw.” 

He took the silver candlestick which 
stood lightedmpon the table, and left 
the room ; bm outside he paused a 
moment, and turned back his head. 
The spark now more than glimmered 
in the young man’s eyes ; it flamed 
luridl3", but onl3’ for a moment ; then 
all again became void and dead. But 


the candle flickered as he walked 
through the ante-room : was it from 
the draught, or because the hand that 
held it trembled ? 

Eugenie remained alone, and a 
deep sigh of relief escaped her breast 
as the door closed behind her hus- 
band. She had attained her wish: 
As, after this scene, she felt . a need 
of the open air, she stepped to the bal- 
00113^, drew aside the curtain, and, half 
opening the window, gazed, out into the 
partiall3' overcast, but balm3" spring- 
night. The stars glimmered faintly 
through the light veil-like clouds 
which covered the w’hole sk3', while 
the contours of the landscape, already 
enveloped in shadow's, w'ere scarce 
distinguishable. From the terrace 
arose the perfume of flowers, and the 
light murmur of a fountain. Over 
all la3^ deep repose and peace, — over 
all but the heart of the 3’oung w'ife up 
there, who to-da3', for the first time, 
had crossed the threshold of her new 
home. 

It was now at an end, — the dumb, 
anguished struggle of the last tw'o 
months ; and she had borne up through 
all. To heroic natures, there is al- 
w'a3's something great in the thought 
of sacrificing their w'hole future for 
others, — in purchasing freedom, in 
giving themselves an offering to inex- 
orable destin3', for those the3^ love. 
But now, when the sacrifice was con- 
summated, w'hen its object was achiev- 
ed, w'hen there was nothing more for 
which to struggle, nothing more to 
overcome, the romantic illusion w'ith 
wdiich Eugenie had hitherto suiTound- 
ed her filial love, W'as dispelled, and 
the terrible emptiness and dreariness 
of the life before her opened to her 
view. 

On the soft, odorous breathings of ' 
this spring-night, arose again the 
long-restrained anguish-ciy of this 
3'oung girl, who had demanded her full 
share in the happiness and love of 
life, and had been so crueh^y' defraud- 
ed of all. She w'as 3’oung and beau- 
tiful, — more beautiful than so many 
other more fortunate ones. She was 
from an old, noble race ; and tin 
daughter of the Windegs had eve. 
adorned the hero ^f her youthfu 


GOOD LUCK. 


VI 


dreams with all the shining, chival- 
rous qualities of her ancestors. That 
he must be her equal in name and 
rank was self-evident ; |and now ? — 

Had the husband forced upon her 
acceptance possessed that character 
and energy she most prized in man, 
she might perhaps have forgiven his 
plebeian birth ; but this weakling, 
whom she had despised even before 
she knew him ! ' 

Wlw, the insults she had deliberately 
and intentionally hurled at him, and 
which would have made any other 
man beside himself, had not for a 
moment roused him from his stolid 
indiiierence. Even the bitterest ex- 
pressions of her contempt had only for 
one brief instant awakened him from 
his apathy. And to-day noon, in the 
danger which had threatened them 
both, he had not so much as lifted his 
hand to rescue himself or her. Anoth- 
er, a stranger, must fling himself be- 
fore the raging horses, and curb them 
at the risk of his own life. 

Before Eugenie’s sights arose the 
image of that 3’oung man with the 
scornful blue e^'es and the bleeding 
forehead. Her husband did not even 
know whether the wound was danger- 
ous, or perhaps mortal ; and 3’et both 
he and she would have been lost but 
for that energetic, lightning- winged 
deed. 

The 3’oung wife sank into a chair, 
and buried her face in both hands. 
All through which in these last months 
she had fought and suffered pressed 
with tenfold weight upon her soul, 
and found expression in this one wild, 
despairing ciy, “ O my God, my God ! 
How shall I endure this life ? ” 


IV. 

The very extensive Berkow mines 
lay at soruS distance from the capital, 
and in a remote part of the province. 
There was little attractive about this 
region. Eon miles around lay wooded 
hills and mountains, the monotonous 
dark-green of the fii’s covering vale 
and upland alike ; and here and there 
2 


was a village or hamlet, a farm or 
countr3"-seat. 

The soil was of small account : its 
treasures lay buried within the earth ; 
and all the life and activit3" here cen- 
tred around the Berkow mines, 
whence, in prodigal abundance, these 
treasures were brought up to the light 
of da3". 

The Berkow possessions la3’’ sciii- 
taiy, and quite cut off from the busi- 
ness marts, the nearest town being 
some hours distant ; but these giant 
and complex mining interests had of 
themselves . called into existence a 
town in the midst of this wooded val- 
\ey. Hither had been summoned all 
those aids which industiy and science 
could afford, all that the power of 
machinery or the strength of human 
hands could offer, to wrest their wealth 
from the malicious spirits of the 
mountains. A gveat retinue of officers, 
machinists, inspectors, and overseers 
followed the lead of the director-iii- 
chief, and formed a colon3" of them- 
selves ; while the workmen, numbering 
several thousands, dwelt in the adjoin- 
ing villages. 

This business, wdiich the proprietor 
had from small beginnings expanded 
to its present magnitude, seemed al- 
most too great for the means of a 
private citizen, and was, indeed, car- 
ried on onl3" by the most colossal ex- 
penditure. It was b3* far the greatest 
mining interest in the province, and 
in large measure controlled all other 
industries of the kind. This coloiy*, 
with its boundless outla3’s in machinery 
and wages, with its business and dwell- 
ing houses, its officers and workmen, 
was, in a certain sense, a state in 
itself, and its owner as much a sover- 
ign as the ruler of a small principal- 
ity. . 

It seemed strange that a man who 
stood at the head of such vast con- 
cerns should alwa3’s be denied the 
honor of a title, — that honor for 
which, be3'ond all others, he strove, 
and which is bestowed upon many 
who do far less for the industiy of 
their countiy ; but here, as eveiy- 
where, when the decision comes from 
those highest in authorit3’, the character 
and personality of the aspu'ant were 


^8 


GOOD LUCK. 


called in question ; and Berkow did 
not possess the s^’mpathy of the gov- 
ernment. There were many dark 
spots in his past life, which his wealth 
might, indeed, partially efface, but 
could not wholly obliterate. 

He had certainly never come in 
conflict W'ith the laws, but often 
enough he had gone to the utmost 
limit the law allows. His transactions 
in the province, vast as was their mag- 
nitude, were, in many respects, not 
such as honest men would care to imi- 
tate. There was much talk of a S3’s- 
tem of unprincipled speculations, 
calculated only to enhance the wealth 
of the proprietor, and having no re- 
gard to the weal or woe of the work- 
men. There w’ere also rumors of the 
irresponsible t3Tanny of the officers, 
and the increasing discontent of the 
miners ; but the colony was too dis- 
tant for the reports to be verified, 
and the3" remained mere rumor. One 
thing, however, was certain : these 
mines continued to be an inexhaustible 
fountain of wealth for their owner. 

It must be confessed that the per- 
sistence and industrial genius of this 
man were at least as great as his 
lack of principle. From the humblest 
circumstances, borne upward on the 
wave of life and then dashed down, 
he had once more risen, and had at 
last succeeded in reaching those sunny 
heights where he had for 3’ears held 
his undisputed place of millionnaire. 

For the last few 3^ears Fortune had 
proved his steadfast friend. Often as 
he had put her constancy to the test, 
she had remained true ; and whether 
he dealt with moderate ventures, or 
erhbarked in the most daring specu- 
lations, all he touched seemed to turn 
to gold. 

Berkow had earl3" become a widow- 
er, and had contracted no second 
marriage. His restless character, his 
wild passion for gain, had little in 
common with a domestic life : such a 
life he had alwa3^s felt a fetter, rather 
than a solace. His onh^ son and heir 
had grown up in the Residence. No 
pains or expense had been spared in 
bis education. He had had private 
teachers in all branches, a universit3'' 
coui’se, and much foreign travel ; but 


nothing had been done to qualify, him 
for his future career as chief and di- 
rector of a great industrial establish- 
ment. Mr. Arthur showed a decided 
aversion to learning an3" thing be3'ond 
the absolute requirements of fashion- 
able culture ; and the father had been 
much too weak and too vain to insist 
on a more serious or deeper education 
than that which would’ fit his son to 
pla3" a brilliant role in societ3\ For 
the attainment of this goal, he cheer- 
full3’- lavished thousands. He knew 
that in an extremity Arthur would 
alwa3*s find enough capable officers, 
whose mechanical and business ser- 
vices could be bought with 11101103’ ; and 
wh3" need the 3"oung man trouble him- 
self to learn such things? 

And so the elder Berkow, who lived 
alternately at the Residence and upon 
his estates, took upon himself the en- 
tire business management, while the 
son, who scarce visited the mines once 
a 3’ear, was, during his brief sojourn, 
alwa3’s enniiyed to death. 

The weather thus far had not been 
propitious to the newl3’-wedded pair. 
The sun had seldom shone* this spring ; 
but at last, after a long succession of 
rain3^ da3’s, he came out as if to greet 
the sabbath. The shafts were empty, 
the works deserted ; but despite the 
Sunda3^ rest, and the laughing sun- 
shine, something of the melanchol3", 
constrained atmosphere of this region 
seemed to rest upon the whole 0010113". 

In all these numerous business and 
dwelling houses, not the slightest idea 
of beauty or of the comfort of their 
inmates was visible. They had been 
built solety for use. But that this 
sense of beaut3^ was not wanting in 
the proprietor, his own countiy house 
gave ample proof. It stood at some 
little distance from the works, on a 
magnificent site, with a full view of 
the wooded hills and distant moun- 
tains. Outside and in, this dwelling 
was adorned with more than princel3" 
luxury ; and with its balconies, ter- 
races, and flower-gardens, la3" like an 
oasis full of perfume and poes3’, in 
the midst of this domain of industiy. 

The small house of overseer Hart- 
mann stood midwa3^ between the 
mansion-house and the mines ; and 


GOOD LUCK. 


19 


its aspect showed that its owner en- 
joyed a most favorable position. 
Hartmann, when a 3^oung, active mi- 
ner, had married a girl in the service 
of Frau Berkow, and an especial 
favorite of her mistress. 

After her marriage, the young wife 
remained more or less in her old re- 
lations to the family ; and, in conse- 
quence, her husband received manjr 
favors, being advanced from post to 
post, until at last he was appointed 
under-overseer. These relations, and 
the favors also, had ceased after *1110 
lady’s death ; for Herr Berkow was not 
a man to give himself much trouble 
about an3" former member of his house- 
hold. Hartmann’s wife died soon 
after, and there was no more intimacy" 
at the master’s house ; but during 
these 3"ears the overseer had formed 
a strong attachment to the Berkow 
famity, and he was allowed to keep the 
eas 3430 sition he had then attained, — 
a position in which he had no personal 
experience of the usual hard work and 
poor pay of the miners. 

He had some j^ears ago adopted 
Martha Ewers, the orphan daughter 
of his sister. Martha kept his house ; 
but his secret wish, that she and his 
son should many, seemed to havemo 
prospect of fulfilment. 

On this Sunday" morning, the once 
quiet little house was the theatre of a 
rather exciting scene, such as had 
got to be of no rare occurrence be- 
tween this father and son. The over- 
seer, standing in the centre of the 
small sitting-room, was very excitedly" 
talking to Ulrich, who had just re- 
turned from the director’s, and now, 
silent and morose, leaned against the 
door, while Martha, standing a little 
aside, gazed at both with an anxiet}^ 
she could not conceal. 

‘‘Have I lived to see this ?” cried 
the overseer. ‘ ‘ Haveyou not enemies 
enough among the gentlemen over 
there already, but 3"ou must needs 
offend them still more ? Our propri- 
etor offers you a sum large enough to 
found a household of 3’our own, and 
you, stubborn fellow, without the least 
hesitation; sa}’ no I But what do 3’ou 
care, indeed, about a household, or 
any such What do 3’ou thinli 


about ever taking a wife ? Whenever 
you come from work 3’our head is 
stuck in a newspaper ; and half the 
night through, 3^011 sit over 3’our books, 
and stuff* your brains full of all that 
new-fa?jhioned stuff* an honest miner 
has no need to know his whole life 
long. Among 3wr comrades, 3*ou 
play the master ; so that next thing, 
the3" will be asking no longer the Herr 
Director, but Herr Ulrich Hartmann, 
what must be done upon the works. 
And if they should chance to be re- 
minded that 3^011 were once only a 
common miner, theli they would speak 
of this reward, and bring the whole 
story again to the remembrance of 
our superiors. I should think, if ever 
a man honorably earned money, it 
was 3’ou in this affair ! ” 

Ulrich, who had hitherto listened 
in silence, now stamped angrily. 

“ But I tell 3w I will accept noth- 
ing from that set over there. I have 
declared to 3’ou that I want no reward, 
will receive none, for my so-called act 
of heroism the3' are making such a 
fuss about ; and I stand b3'' m3" word.” 

The old man started up anew, and 
was just about to give his son another 
and more angry lecture, when Martha 
stepped between. “Let him be, 
uncle,” she said : “he is right.” 

The overseer, quite disconcerted 
by these unexpected words, looked 
at her with open mouth. “ Ah ! he is 
right?” repeated he angrily. “ Well, 
I might suppose that 3"0U would again 
take his part.” 

‘ ‘ Ulrich cannot bear to have this 
offer made through the director, and 
without other acknowledgment,” con- 
tinued the girl decided^ ; “and it 
is not at all the proper wa3". If Herr 
Berkow had only himself spoken a 
word of thanks, or something of the 
kind ; but, really, he gives himself no 
trouble about any thing in the world. 
He always looks as if he had just 
wakened from sleep, and as if it 
gave him a painful effort even to 
look at one ; and, if he really does 
not sleep, he lies all day on his sofa, 
and stares up at the ceiling ” — 

‘ ‘ Leave the 3wng gentleman 
alone ! ” interrupted the overseer 
hastilj". “His father is responsible 


20 


GOOD LUCK. 


for all. In childhood he allowed him 
his own way, and w^as pleased even 
with his naughtiness. Eveiy da}’ he 
would tell the boy how rich he was 
going to be, and drive away tutors 
and servants if Arthur did not agree 
with them. As he grew up, he must 
associate with counts and barons ; 
money was given him in heaps ; and 
the wilder he was, the better his 
father was pleased. Certainly such 
a 3’oung fellow must lose some of 
his goodness of heart. And Arthur 
was good : I hold fast to that. Hov/ 
often, when a lUtle fellow, did he 
ride upon my knee ! He had a heart 
too. After his mother died, and the}’ 
w’ere about to take him to the city, 
I remember how he hung about my 
neck, and, -weeping bitterly, begged 
not to be sent away. 

“Herr Berko w flattered him, and 
promised him ever so many flne 
things when they got out into the 
great world ; but I had to carry him 
to the coach. After he had been in 
the city a while with honnes and 
tutors, all this was over ; but the 
next time I met him he shook hands 
with me. Then he grew colder and 
more aristocratic ; and now ” — an 
expression of pain passed over the 
old man’s face ; but he shook off this 
weakness. “AVell, in the long-run, 
it will all be the same to me ; but I 
cannot bear that you, Martha, at 
every opportunity, should go on in 
this way about our young gentleman. 
Ulrich, as -we know, has a real hatred 
against him. But, sm)posing that 
obstinate boy there had been left to 
have his ov/n way, and some hundred 
thousands besides, we may well ima- 
gine what he would have made.” 

“ Perhaps something worse, father ; 
but certainly not such a weakling as 
he,” replied Ulrich bitterly. “You 
may rely upon that.” 

The conversation, which threatened 
to take an unpleasant turn, now 
happily ended. There was a knock at 
the outside door ; and, directly after, 
entered a servant in the rich but 
somewhat over-ornamented livery of 
the Berkow house. 

“ Good day ! ” he said to the over- 
seer. “My lady sends me on an 


errand to your Ulrich. Ah ! there 
you are, Ilartmann. Her Jadyship 
wishes to speak with you ; this even- 
ing, at seven precisely, I am to 
introduce you to her.” 

“ Ulrich!’^ 

Both exclamations came with equal 
surprise from thei lips of the overseer 
and his son ; while Martha, just as 
astonished, gazed at the servant, who 
indifferently added, — ^ 

‘ ‘ It must be something the director 
is concerned in, Hartmann. Very 
early this morning he was with our 
lady, W’ho is not in the habit of 
troubling her husband about business- 
matters ; and right away after, I was 
despatched to you, although w’e really 
have enough to do to-day. All the 
officers are invited to dine ; and I 
don’t know how many are coming 
from the city to pay their respects, — 
but^ I haven’t a moment’s time. Be 
punctual? — at seven, after dinner.” 

The man gave a hasty nod as his 
parting salutation, and hurried away. 

“ No-vy we are in for it ! ” exclaimed 
the overseer angrily. “All this has 
something to do with your senseless 
refusal. Now, see how you will 
arrange matters with them ! ” 

“Will you go, Ulrich?” asked 
Martha, with a quick, eager expression. 

‘ ' What are you thinking of, girl ? ” 
replied the uncle. “ Do you imagine 
he could say ‘No,’ when her ladyship 
summoned him ? ” 

Martha did not notice the interimp- 
tion. She approached her cousin, and 
laid her hand on his arm. 

‘ ‘ Will you go ? ” she repeated 
softly. 

Ulrich stood there, gazing morosely - 
at the floor, as if in conflict with him- ' 
self. All at once he passionately 
threw back his head. 

“ Certainly I will. I wmnt to 
know what her ladyship may be 
pleased to want of me, when, for a 
whole week, she has not even given 
herself the trouble to inquire ” — 

He paused suddenly, as if he had 
already said too much. Martha’s 
hand had glided down from his arm, 
and she stepped back ; but the over- 
1 seer said with a sigh, — 


GOOD LUCK. 


21 


“Now, God help us, if 5’ou are 
going qver there ! Unluckil}^ old 
Berkow came home last evening. If 
you have a talk together, then you 
will no longer be a master-miner here, 
and I no longer overseer. I know 
the man.” 

A scornful expression played around 
the 3’oung man’s lips. “Be calm, 
father ! You know too well how 
much you depend upon the Berkows, 
and how much need that untaught 
son may have of yoii ; for he will 
never submit to taking the control 
here. They will have no other in 
5’our place, and I ” — here, with scorn- 
ful self-consciousness, Ulrich drew 
himself up to his full height — “I, 
before all others, shall remain here. 
They dare not send me aw a}' : the}’ 
fear me too much.” 

He turned his back to his father, 
flung open the door,' and went out 
into the open air. The overseer 
clasped his hands, and seemed inclined 
to give his rebellious son another 
severe lecture ; but he was prevented 
by Martha, who anew, and* this time 
much more decidedl}’, took Ulrich’s 
part. Weary of contention, the old 
man at last took his pipe, and was 
about to leave the house. 

“Listen, Martha,” he said, turn- 
ing at the door: “I see you think 
no obstinacy so great as his ; but 
there is 3’et one which surpasses it. 
You have found your master in Ul- 
rich ; and he will also find his master, 
so true as my name is Gotthold Hart- 
mann.” 

Up at the countrj'-house, all were 
busied in preparations for the great 
dinner. The ser\'ants ran up-stairs 
and down-stairs ; in the work-rooms 
bustled around cooks and maid-ser- 
vants ; everywhere there was some- 
thing to change or to arrange ; and 
the whole house showed that picture 
of restless activity usual in prepar- 
ing for a feast. 

So much the more profound was 
the stillness which ruled in the apart- 
ments of 5'oung Berkow. The cur- 
tains were closely drawn, the j^ortieres 
closed ; and in the adjoining room, 
with noiseless step, a servant glided 
up and down over the thick carpet, 


arranging this and that. His mas- 
ter, above all things, liked to lie the 
greater portion of the da}", lazily 
dreaming, upon the sofa ; and jtvould 
not be disturbed by the slightest 
sound. 

The young heir, with half-closed 
eyes, lay outstretched upon a sofa. 
He held a book in his hand, in which 
he read, or at least seemed to have 
been reading, although for quite a 
while the same page had lain open 
before him. Apparently it cost him 
too much effort to turn the leaves ; 
and now the carelessly-held volume 
slipped out of the sitiall white hands 
upon the carpet. It would have been 
but slight efe>rt to bend forward and 
pick up the book, still sligliter to call 
the servant to do this ; but neither 
effort was made. The book remained 
lying upon the carpet ; and, for the 
next quarter of an hour, Arthur did 
not make the least motion ; but his 
face plainly showed that he was nei- 
ther thinking over his reading, nor 
lost in dreams : he was simply en- 
nui/ ed. 

A rather reckless opening of the 
door which led from the corridor into 
the adjoining room, and a loud, dom- 
ineering voice, made a speedy end of 
this most interesting employment. 
In entering the ante-room, old Berkow 
asked if his son was within ; and, 
rpceiving an affirmative answer, he 
dismissed the servant, shoved back 
the x>ortiere^ and stepped up to Ar- 
thur. His face was flushed, either 
with vexatioi^r anger ; and the cloud 
which already lay upon his forehead 
grew darker at sight of Arthur. 

“Are you really here, lying upon 
this sofa, just as you lay three hours 
ago ? ” 

Arthur seemed not to be accus- 
tomed to show his father even the 
outward forms of respect. He had 
not taken the least notice of his en- 
trance ; and now it did not occur to 
him to change his negligent position 
in the least. 

The furrows upon the father’s brow 
grew still deeper. “ Your apathy and 
laziness really begin to be past all 
conception ! It is more vexatious 
here than in the Residence. I 


22 


GOOD LUCK. 


thought you would pay some small re- 
gard to my wishes, at least take some 
share in canning forward the arrange- 
ments I was making on your account ; 
but ” — 

“ My God, papa ! ” interrupted the 
young man, “ do 3^011 really ask me to 
trouble m3’self about workmen, ma- 
chines, and such things? I have 
never done it ; and I really cannot 
understand why 3^011 have sent us 
here ; I am ennuyed to death in this 
desert. ’’ 

The words indeed showed the deep- 
est ennui ; but the3" had none the less 
the tone of the spoiled darling son, 
who had been wont to see his whims 
regarded at all times and in all places, 
and who took even the least hint of 
an3' discomfort as an offence. But 
something must have happened to 
enrage the father ; for this time he 
was not 3delding as usual. 

“ I am accustomed to see 3^011 en- 
nuyed in all places and under all 
circumstances, while I alone must 
bear all the care and burden. Just 
now I am beset on every side. Your 
expenses in the capital have at last 
begun to go be3'ond even m3^ means. 
To release the Windegs from their 
obligations has cost me dear enough ; 
and here I find nothing but endless 
trouble and vexation. I have this 
morning had a conference with the 
director and the higher officers ; and 
am compelled to hear complaints and 
nothing but complaints. Extensive 
repairs are demanded in the mines, 
— better wages, new buildings : non- 
sense ! As if 1 had time and money 
for all this ! ” 

Arthur listened uns3’mpatheticall3’, 
as usual. If his face expressed any 
thing at all, it was the wish that his 
father would go awa3\ But this did 
not happen. He began to walk ex- 
citedly up and down the room. 

“Trust to one’s officers and their 
advice ! For half a 3’ear I have not 
been here personall3^ ; and all is going 
to rack and ruin. I’he3^ speak of 
secret conspiracies among the work- 
men, of grave S3unptoms, of threaten- 
ing danger ; as if the3" had not full 
2iower to draw’ the reins as tightl3’ as 
possible. Before all, a certain Hart- 


mann is pointed out to me as rebel- 
in-chief, who among his comrades 
l^asses for a new sort of Messiah, and 
secretl3" throw’s all the w’orks into 
insurrection ; and when I ask W’hy 
the3^ did not send him awa3" long ago, 
wdiat do I receive for nay answer? 
They’ dare not ! there is no fault to 
be found with his w’ork ; and his com- 
rades cling to him w’ith blind idolatry : 
there w’ould be a revolution in the 
works if he were sent awa3’. I took 
the liberty to inform the gentlemen 
that they w’ere all cowards, and that 
I w^ould take the mattei into my owm 
hands. The mines remain as they 
W’ere ; and the w’ages will not be 
raised one iota. The slightest insub- 
ordination will be met with the 
utmost severity’ ; and this head muti- 
neer I will myself dismiss this very 
day.” 

“You cannot do that, papa,” said 
Arthur hastily’, and half rising from 
his seat. 

“ And W’hy not?” asked Berkow in 
great surprise. 

“Because it was this very Hart- 
mann who caught our horses, and 
saved our lives.” 

Berkow gave a repressed exclama- 
tion of anger. “ And must it really 
be this man? Certainly’ he cannot 
be sent aw’ay w’ithout some further 
reason : we must wait for an excuse. 
Besides, Arthur,” — and here he 
glanced frowningly’ at his son, — “it 
w’as rather vexatious that I had first 
to hear of this accident through 
strangers. You did not think it 
w’orth 3’our W’hile to W’rite me even a 
word about it.” 

‘ ‘ Why should I ? ” The y’oung man 
wearily’ rested his head upon his 
hand. ‘ ‘ The thing all turned out for- 
tunately ; and, besides, they’ almost 
overwhelmed us w’ith exi^ressions of 
sympathy’, congratulations, questions, 
and orations, over the matter. I do 
not think life w’orth enough to make 
such an ado about its rescue.” 

‘ ‘ Is that 3’our honest opinion ? ” 
asked the father, w’ith a fixed gaze 
upon his son’s face. “I thought 
you had been married only’ the day 
before.” 

Arthur did not answer: he only 


GOOD LUCK. 


23 


yawned. Berkow’s eyes fastened 
themselves still more searchingly 
upon his son’s face. 

“ To come to the point, what is the 
. trouble between 3^ou and 5’our wife ? ” 
he asked quickl}', bluntl}", and with- 
out the least circumlocution. 

“Between me and my wife?” re- 
peated Arthur, as if he just began 
to comprehend the drift of the con- 
versation. 

“Yes, between j^ou two. I thought 
to surprise a young married pair in 
the first week of their honeymoon ; 
and I find a state of things here of 
which I certainly did not dream. 
You ride alone ; you drive out alone ; 
neither of 3’ou enters the other’s apart- 
ments. You evidently avoid each 
other ; and when 3’ou meet 3’ou do 
not speak half a dozen words. What 
does all this mean ? ” 

The 3"Oung man had risen, and now 
stood opposite his father ; but he still 
retained his sleep3^ air. “You show 
a -wonderful knowledge of details, 
papa, which 3’ou could not possibly 
have gained from our half-hour’s in- 
terview 3^esterday evening. Have 
3’ou been questioning the servants ? ” 

^'‘Arthur Berkow would have 
flown into a passion ; but his usual 
deference to his son allowed him to 
overlook this rudeness. He kept his 
temper under full control. 

“Here, it seems, they are not 
accustomed to the aristocratic mode of 
life,” continued Arthur cooll3\ “We 
are in this respect particularly aristo- 
cratic. ^And 3'ou love aristocracy so 
much, papa ! 

“Have done with this raillery!” 
said -^erkow impatienth". “Is it 
with free consent that your wife 
allows"%erbelf to ignore 3’OU in a way 
that is even now the talk of the 
whole colon3^ ? ” 

1 4 j gjyg i^QY the freedom to do 
exactly what I permit myself.” 

Berkow sprang passionately from 
his chair. “ This is going altogether 
too far. Arthur, 3’ou are” — 

“Not like 3’OU, papa,” interrupted 
the son. “ With the promissory notes 
of her father in my hand, I certainly 
would have forced no girl’s consent.” 

The hot flush in Berkow’s face at 


once changed to ashy paleness. He 
started back involuntarily as he asked 
in a trembling voice, “ What, — what 
do you mean by that ? ” 

Arthur was fully roused from his 
lethargy ; and his e3’es had some life 
as he fixed them on his father. 

“ Baron Windeg was ruined: all 
the -world knew that. Who had 
ruined him ? ” 

“Do / know?” asked Berkow 
sneeringl3^ “ His extravagances, his 
desire to play the great hereditary 
gentleman when he was head over 
ears in debt. He would have been 
lost without my help.” 

“Reall3"? and did 3’ou follow no 
plan in offering this hel^D? Was not 
this alternative placed before the 
baron, — to give up his daughter, or be 
driven to extremities? Did he de- 
cide upon this union of his own free 
will?” 

Berkow laughed constrainedly. 
“Naturally! Who has told 3'ou 
that it was other-wise ? ” But, despite 
the confident tone, his glance sank to 
the floor. The man had perhaps never 
3^et cast down his e3’es when accused 
of an unprincipled act : here, be- 
fore his son, he did it. An expres- 
sion almost of bitterness passed over 
the 3'Oung man’s listless features : if 
he had hitherto cherished a doubt, 
now he knew. 

After a momentar3" pause, Arthur 
resumed the conservation. “You 
know that I never was inclined to 
marriage ; that I only yielded to 3’our 
persistent urging. I was - indifferent 
to Eugenie Windeg, as to all others ; 
I did not even know her : but I took 
her own and her father’s consent, 
aware that she -w'ould not be the first 
who had sacrificed freely an old name 
for riches. It did not please 3-011 to 
tell me what passed before m3’ 
betrothal, or what followed it. From 
Eugenie’s lips I first heard of the 
business arrangement you had made 
for us both. AYe will let that rest ; 
the thing is done, and cannot be 
undone : but 3-ou will now well 
understand w-hy I decline to expose 
myself to new humiliations. I have 
no desire to stand a second time 
before my wife as upon that evening 


24 


GOOD LUCK. 


Tvlien she flung the full weight of her 
scorn against me and my father, and 
I — had to be silent.” 

Berkow, who had stood by silent, 
and with half-averted gaze, at these 
last words quickly turned around, 
and measured his son with an aston- 
ished glance. 

“ I did not believe that any thing 
could enrage 5'ou to such a degree,” 
he said slowly. 

“Enrage me? You are in error. 
T]\ere was no such thing as getting 
enraged between us. My wife, from 
the first, placed herself so high upon 
the pedestal of her exalted virtues 
and her aristocratic birth, that I, who 
in both these respects was unworth}^ 
to stand before her, could only admire 
her from a respectful distance. Seri- 
ousl}^, I advise 3’ou to do the same, if 
you should once in a while chance to 
enjoy the pleasure of her compan3\” 

AVith contemptuous indifference, he 
again threw himself on the sofa ; but 
in his scorq there was a deep exasper- 
ation Berkow had never before re- 
marked in him. The father ,felt too 
painfully the role he had played in 
this wil}" transaction in behalf of his 
son, and wished to dismiss the subject 
as soon as possible. 

“ AYe will speak of this at a more 
convenient time,” he said, drawing 
out his watch: “let it rest to-da}^ 
There are still two hours before the 
arrival of our guests. I must drive 
out to the upper works. AYill j’ou 
not accompanv me ? ” 

“No,” replied Arthur, again re- 
lapsing into his wonted indolence. 

Berkow made no attempt to urge 
his son. The refusal, just now, grat- 
ified him. He turned 'and went, 
leaving the j’oung man to silence and 
apath}*. 

Out of doors, the first sunny spring- 
da^’ smiled down on the earth ; the 
hills breathed forth incense ; the for- 
ests glowed in the splendor of the 
sunbeams ; but there la}^ Arthur 
Berkow, in that half-darkened room, 
with drawn curtains and closed doors, 
as if he alone, of all living things, was 
not created for the free mountain-air 
and the golden sunshine. The air was 
too rough for him ; the sun too bright ; 


the prospect dazzled him ; a ramble 
out of doors would have made him 
inexpressibly nervous and exhausted. 
The 3’oung heir, at whose command 
stood all this world and life can give, 
felt to-da}’, as he often had felt before, 
that this world and this life were 
horribly’ empty and dreaiy^ — that it 
was really not worth the while to 
have been born. 


V. 

The brilliant dinner, with its prod- 
igal magnificence, was at an end. It 
had been an especial triumph for Herr 
Berkow. The nobility of this region 
were in the highest degree exclusive, 
and had hitherto never allowed them- 
selves to enter the house of a parvenu 
whose doubtful past had thus far 
excluded him from aristocratic so- 
ciety. 

But the invitations bearing the 
name of Eugenie Berkow, nee Bar- 
oness AYindeg, were accepted on all 
sides. She was, and would remain, 
the daughter of one of the oldest 
noble families ; and they could and 
would not wound her b^’ declining 
the invitation ; so much the less, as 
what had forced her to this marriage 
was no secret. 

But if they met the .young wife 
with the fullest respect and s.vmpath}’, 
they could not possibh’ be otherwise 
than polite to her father-in-law, in 
whose house the entertainment was 
given. And the.v were polite to him. 
Berkow was triumphant : he well knew 
that this was onh’ the prelude to 
what must next winter be repeated in 
the Residence. Thej^ certainl}’ would 
not drop the Baroness AA^indeg from 
their circle, because she had sacrificed 
herself out of love for her father ; 
the}’ would as formerl}’ regard her 
their equal in birth, in spite of the 
plebeian name she now bore. And so 
far as this name was concerned, the 
goal so ardentl}’ longed for he hoped 
lay not far distant. 

If the ambitious millionnaire felt 
himself newly indebted to his daugh- 
ter-in-law, although she had to-da^^, 


GOOD LUCK. 


25 


more than ever, put on the airs of a 
princess, and remained wholly unap- 
proachable to him and his circle, 
on the other side, the behavior of his 
son had as much surprised as vexed 
him. Arthur, who had moved exclu- 
sivel}" in aristocratic circles, now 
seemed all at once to have lost his 
taste for this kind of society. He 
had treated his distinguished guests 
with such an icy politeness, maintain- 
ing even toward the officers of the 
garrison, with whom, during his 
residence here, he had always been 
on a most intimate footing, such an 
intentional reserve, that he more than 
once passed those bounds which a 
host cannot allow himself to pass 
without giving offence. Berkow did 
not understand this new mood. What 
could his son mean ? Did he design 
to offend his wife by this almost scorn- 
ful neglect of her guests ? 

The gentlemen and ladies from the 
town had been obliged to leave early, 
as the long-continued rains had ren- 
dered the drive of several miles 
scarce safe after dark. Their depar- 
ture gave the lad}’ of the house liberty 
to withdraw, a privilege of which she 
at once availed herself. Leaving the 
reception-rooms, she went to her own 
apartments, while her husband and 
father-in-law remained with the 
guests. 

At the appointed hour Ulrich 
Hartmann appeared. Since his early 
childhood, since, with the death of 
Frau Berkow, the connection of his 
parents with her house had ceased, 
he had not entered it. For the work- 
men, the countr3’-seat of their chief, 
with its terraces and gardens, was a 
closed Eldorado, which only the 
officers might enter now and then, 
when summoned by especially impor- 
tant business, or on invitation. The 
young man strode through the loft}’ 
vestibule, richly adorned with bloom- 
ing plants, up the carpeted stairs, and 
through the brilliantly-lighted corri- 
dors, until, in the last, the messenger 
of the morning met him, and showed 
him into one of the apartments. 
“ Her ladyship will soon appear,” he 
said ; and, closing the door behind 
hi^n, left Ulrich alone. 


,It was a large, richly-decorated 
ante-room, the beginning of a suite of 
state-apartments, which, at this mo- 
ment, were quite empty. The com- 
pany was in the dining-hall, opening 
upon the garden. But the emptiness, 
voidness, and silence of these rooms, 
only made their magnificence more 
apparent. Through all the wide- 
opened portieres^ Ulrich could with 
unobstructed glance survey the long 
suites of splendid rooms, each seeming 
to surpass the other in magnificence. 

The heavy, dark, velvet carpets 
seemed to absorb the light ; but so 
much the more brightly it played 
around the silk and satin covering of 
the furniture, the richly gilded orna- 
mentation of the doors and windows, 
upon the mirrors, reaching to the 
ceiling, which reflected it in flashing 
rays ; so much the more brilliantly 
did it illuminate the paintings, statues, 
and vases, which in costly and lavish 
profusion adorned these rooms. All 
that wealth and taste could give was 
gathered here in a fulness of beauty 
and splendor that might well dazzle 
an eye accustomed to the dark laby- 
rinths of the mines. 

But this magnificence, which cer- 
tainly would have bewildered any of 
his comrades, failed to make the 
slightest impression upon Ulrich. 
His eyes, indeed, glanced sullenly 
over the brilliant apartments ; but 
no admiration beamed from them. 
As if he would quarrel with every one 
of the costly things, he surveyed them 
all ; then, suddenly, as if in flaming 
hatred, he turned his back upon the 
whole suite of rooms, stamping rio- 
lently in his impatience that no one 
yet appeared. Ulrich Hartmann 
evidently was not the man to wait 
patiently in ante-chambers until some 
one condescended to receive him. 

At last there was a rustling be- 
hind him. He turned,' and started 
back involuntarily ; for, a few steps 
from him, under the chandelier, stood 
Eugenie Berkow. He had seen her 
only once, when he bore her from 
the carriage : she was then in a sim- 
ple travelling-dress of dark silk, while 
her face was half thrown in shadow 
by riding-hat and veil ; and from this 


26 


GOOD LUCK. 


meeting he had taken but one remem- 
brance, — the large, dark ej’es, which 
had been so steadfastly fixed upon 
his face. This figure before him was 
quite another from any that had 
ever appeared to the young man’s 
sight. Rare, delicate lace fell in 
light ripples over the white silk dress, 
which like a silvery cloud, enveloped 
the tall, slender form. Here and 
there lay white roses amid the airy 
woof; and a wreath of roses was 
twined in the rich blonde hair, whose 
pale glitter seemed to vie with the 
lustre of the pearls which adorned 
the lovely neck and arms. 

The full glow of the wax candles 
poured a flood of light over the beau- 
tiful apparition, which seemed created 
for the gorgeous flame of these sur- 
roundings. And there the 3’oung 
bride stood before the miner, Ulrich 
Hartmann, as if nothing of the com- 
mon, working, every-day world could 
come in contact with her. But 
vividly as her whole appearance indi- 
cated the aristocratic salon dame^ in 
which role she had appeared before 
her guests, her eyes betra3"ed that she 
could be something better, as in un- 
disguised satisfaction they rested 
upon the 3’oung man whom she now 
approached with a cordial, friendly" 
air. 

‘ ‘ I am glad you answered my sum- 
mons. I wished to speak with }’o«, — 
to explain a misunderstanding. Please 
follow me.” 

She opened a side-door, and entered 
an adjoining room : Ulrich followed. 
It was her own parlor, which lay be- 
tween her chamber and the reception- 
rooms ; but what a contrast it bore to 
them ! Here the pale subdued light 
of the lamp floated over the delicate 
blue of the walls, and the silk uphol- 
steiy ; soft carpets deadened every 
foot-fall ; flower-perfumes, delicate 
and sweet, pervaded all the air. 

Ulrich, as if spell-bound, paused 
upon the threshold. He felt no tim- 
idity ; but things here were so different 
from what they had been in the glit- 
tering state-apartments, — so much 
more beautiful, so dreamily silent. 
He could not recall the hatred with 
wRich he had gazed upon the mag- 


nificence outside. Instead of this, 
other emotions swa^^ed him, — emotions 
he had never before experienced, and 
to which he could give no name ; but 
they were in unison with these new 
surroundings. 

And yet, at this very moment, a 
passionate tide of anger passed over 
him. He drew back instinctivel}^, as 
from some scarce-defined danger ; and 
his whole nature rose in dumb, deadly 
hostility against this atmosphere of 
beauty and perfume with its enticing 
spell. Eugenie had remained stand- 
ing, as with some surprise she^’e- 
marked that the 3"oung miner did not 
follow her. She now sank down on a 
lounge near the door, while her e3’es 
critically scanned his face. The 
curling blonde hair quite covered the 
fresh scar ; but the wound, which for 
an3’' other would have been dangerous, 
had scarce been able to affect this 
robust nature. Eugenie vainty sought 
in his features a trace of recent suf- 
fering. Still, her first question was 
in relation to the injur3\ 

“Have 3ml fully recovered?” she 
asked. “ Hoes the wound really give 
3W no more pain ? ” 

“No, my lady: it was not worth 
mentioning.” 

Eugenie seemed not to have noticed 
the short, bitter tone of the answer. 
Kindty as at first, she continued, — 

“ I heard the very next day from 
the ph3’sician, that there was no 
danger;' otherwise, we should have 
shown greater anxiety for 3’ou. After 
his second visit to 3-011, the doctor 
repeatedty assured me that there was 
nothing to fear ; and Herr Wilberg, 
who, on the evening of that eventful 
da3^, I sent to you, brought me the 
same intelligence.” 

At the first vrords Ulrich had lifted 
his e3-es, and looked fixedty at her : 
his gloomy forehead slowty cleared ; 
and his voice had a milder tone, as 
he at length answered, — 

‘ ‘ I did not know that 3-011 had 
troubled 3murself so much, gracious 
lad3-. Herr Wilberg did not tell me 
that he came from you, or ” — 

“ Or 3-0U w-ould have received him 
more kindly,” added Eugenie with a 
light tone of reproach. “ He com- 


GOOD LUCK. 


27 


plained of 3’our rudeness to him that 
evening ; and still he was full of sym- 
pathy for you, and, with the most 
friendly satisfaction, offered to obtain 
for me the desired intelligence. What 
have 3^ou against Herr AVilberg?” 

“Nothing. But he plan’s the gui- 
tar, and makes verses.” 

Eugenie laughed involuntaril}^ at 
this rather singular, but still exhaust- 
ive description of the blonde young 
officer. 

“That seems to be no especial 
recommendation in 3’our eyes,” said 
she half jestingly; “but I believe 
that even you might be guilty of such 
things if you held Herr Wilberg’s 
place in life. But let that pass. It 
was for something else I sent for j-ou. 
As I hear,” — the 5'oung woman, 
somewhat embarrassed, played with 
her fan, — “as I hear from the di- 
rector, 3’ou have rejected the token 
of ou,r thanks we proposed to offer 
you.” 

“ Yes!*' declared Ulrich sullenly, 
without softening the roughness of 
this “ yes,” by a single word. 

“I regret if the offering, or the 
manner of making it, has offended 
3'ou. Herr Berkow,” — a slight blush 
overspread Eugenie’s face as she ut- 
tered this falsehood, — “ Herr Berkow 
certainl}^ intended to express to 3’ou 
personally his thanks and my own ; 
but he w^as prevented, and chose the 
director to represent him. It would 
deeply grieve me if 3’ou saw in this 
any ingratitude on our side toward 
the preserver of our lives. We both 
know how deeply we are indebted to 
you ; and 3'ou could not refuse, if I 
begged you to accept from my 
hands ” — 

Ulrich started up. The first words 
had softened him ; but the last spoiled 
all. His face became white ; and in 
reckless . passion he exclaimed, “No 
more of this, lad^^ ! If 3'Ou offer me 
a reward, even you, I shall wish I 
had let the carriage and all within it 
go to destruction ! ” 

Eugenie started back at this sud- 
den outbreak of that unrestrained 
savagery which had made Ulrich 
Hartmann feared throughout the 
works. Such a tone and glance had 


never before come near the daughter 
of Baron AYindeg. She replied in an 
offended tone, — 

“ I would not press my thanks upon 
you. If the expression of them is 
so unpleasant to 3’ou, I regret having 
sent for 3'ou.” 

She turned, and made a motion as 
if to leave the room ; and this brought 
Ulrich to his senses. He made a 
hasty step toward her. 

“ Gracious ladN*, — I — forgive me ! 
I would not do hann to you I ” 

There la}^ in the outcry such sud- 
den, passionate remorse, that Eugenie 
paused, and gazed at him in great 
perplexity, as if in his face she sought 
some clew to the character of this 
enigmatical being ; but the wild en- 
treaty had disarmed her anger. 

“ Not to me?" repeated she. “ Is 
it, then, indifferent to 3*011, that 3*011 
wound others b3^ 3*our rudeness ? — the 
director, for instance, and Herr Wil- 
berg. ” 

“ Yes!" returned Ulrich sullenly, 
— “as indifferent as they would be 
toward me. There can be no talk of 
friendship between the officers and 
me.” 

“ Can there not ? ” asked Eugenie in 
surprise. “ I did not know that the 
relations here between officers and 
workmen w*ere so unpleasant : and 
Herr Berkow seems to ha's e no sus- 
picion of it ; otherwise, he would act 
as arbitrator between 3*011.” 

“Herr Berkow,” said Ulrich cut- 
tingty, “ has for twenty 3*ears done 
every thing possible for the works, 
but nothing for the workmen ; and 
this has gone on so long, that we are 
beginning to take affairs into our own 
hands ; and then — ah, my lad3’', I 
quite forgot that 3*011 are the wife of 
his son. Pardon me.” 

The 3’'Oung woman was silent, al- 
most confounded at this hard, reck- 
less candor. What she now heard 
was indeed nothing other than she 
had now and then incidentall3* heard 
of her father-in-law : but the terrible 
bitterness in the words taught her the 
whole depth of the gulf which lay 
ibetween him and his underlings. 
Whoever complained of Herr Berkow 
could be sure of the S3*mpathy of his 


28 


GOOD LUCK. 


claiigiiter-in-law. She had herself 
the bitterest proof of this man’s utter 
■umnt of principle ; but the -wife of 
his son must not, even by gesture, 
betray this. She must seem not to 
have heard the remark, or reprove it. 
She preferred the former. 

“ And so 3'ou will receive no token 
of recognition from my hands ? ” she 
asked, turning quickh^ from this dan- 
gerous subject to the former topic. 
“Well, then, it only remains for me 
to express m3" thanks to the man 
whose hand rescued me from certain 
death. AVill 3-011 also reject this? 1 
thank 3-011, Hartmann ! ” 

She reached him her hand. It was 
onl3" a few seconds tliat tliis hand, 
white and delicate as a rose-leaf, la3- 
in the rough, toil-hardened fist of the 
miner ; but the light touch seemed to 
strangeU" thrill him. All the bitter- 
ness vanished from his features, the 
malignit3^ from his glance ; the scorn- 
ful liead, the stiff neck, bowed ; and 
he bent over the lady’s hand with an 
expression of mildness and compli- 
ance none of his superiors could 
boast of ever having seen in Ulrich 
Hartmann. 

“ Ah, 3"ou are giving audience, 
Eugenie, and to one of our miners,” 
said Berkow’s voice behind them, as 
he at this moment entered with his 
son. Eugenie drew back her hand ; 
and Ulrich quickl3" rose to his full 
height. It needed 01113" this voice to 
bring back to his manner its dumb 
hostilit3" ; and this was but increased, 
when Arthur, w-ith a sharpness in 
strange contrast with his usual languid 
tone, asked, — 

“ Hartmann, how came you here?” 

“ Hartmann ! ” repeated Berkow, 
as he caught the name, and drew a 
step nearer. “ Ah ! so we have here 
our Sir Agitator, who ” — 

“ Curbed our frightened horses, and 
in so doing received a wound while 
he saved our lives,” interrupted 
Eugenie calml3" but emphatically. 
'’“Ah! is that so?” exclaimed 
Berkow, embarrassed as much through 
this reminder as by the veiy decided 
tone of his daughter-in-law. “ Ah, 
indeed ! I had heard of this alread3" ; 
and the director also told me that 


vou and Arthur had rewarded him. 
The 3"onng man is here, I suppose, to 
return thanks for his present. AVere 
you satisfied, Hartmann?” 

The cloud upon Ulrich’s forehead 
grew threatening ; and the reply which 
trembled on his lips might have had 
the lieaviest consequences for him ; 
but Eugenie stepped nearer her 
t('ge^ and, giving him a warning look, 
touched lightl3" his arm with her fan. 
He understood the warning ; he looked 
at her ; saw the expression of uncon- 
cealed anxiet3" in her e3-es ; and spite 
and hate again sank powerless, as he 
calml3", almost coldl3", replied, “ Cer- 
tainl3", Herr Berkow. I am content 
with m3" lad3-’s thanks.” 

“ That delights me,” returned 
Berkow curtl3" ; Ulrich turned to Eu- 
genie, — 

“ I ma3" now go, gracious lad3"? ” 

She bowed her head in silent ac- 
quiescence. She saw 01113" too well 
with what effort this obstinate man 
controlled his anger. A nod to the 
chief and his son, — a nod in which 
haughty restraint was plaiiil3^ visible, 
— and the 3-oung man left the room. 

“ AUcll, we must confess, Eugenie, 
that 3’our protege has not much affa- 
bilit3",” remarked Berkow sneeringl3". 
“ He left without ceremoiy-, without 
even waiting for permission. But 
where, indeed, should such people 
learn manners ? Arthur, you seem to 
regard this Hartmann as an especial 
curiosit3". Have 3-ou gazed at him 
long enough ? ” 

Arthur had indeed kept his glance 
t fixed upon the retreating form, and 
now gazed at the door which had 
closed behind him. The 3-oung man’s 
brows were contracted, his lips com- 
pressed ; but at his father’s question 
he turned around. 

Berkow, with great urbamt3", ap- 
proached his daughter-in-law. “ I 
I regret, Eugenie, that 3-our ignorance 
of existing circumstances has allowed 
3-0U to go too far in 3-our condescen- 
sion. You could naturall3" have no 
suspicion of the role this fellow pla3-s 
among his comrades ; but he must in 
no event enter this house, and least of 
all 3-our parlor, even under the pretence 
1 of returning thanlvs for gifts received.” 


GOOD LUCK. 


29 


The j^oung woman had seated her- 
self ; but her face wore an expression 
which made her father-in-law deem it 
inadvisable to take his place by her 
side, as he had at first intended. He 
remained standing opposite her. She 
allowed him to admire her only from 
a distance. 

“ I see they have told 3^011 only 
half the stoiy. Ma}- I ask when 3'’ou 
last spoke with the director ? ” 

“This morning ; and he told me that 
he was about to take to Hartmann a 
sum which I think quite too large. 
Wly, it will be a fortune for such 
people ! But I set no limitations be- 
fore 3^011 and Arthur, if 3'ou reall3^ 
believe in this extravagant wa3" of 
expressing 3"our gratitude.” 

‘ ‘ And do 3^011 not know that the 
3'oung man has rejected the whole 
sum ? ” 

‘ ^ Re — ject — ed ! ” cried Berkow, 
.starting back. 

' " ‘ Possibl3^ because it offended him 
to be sent a sum of money through a 
third person, while those he rescued 
from death did not think it worth 
their while to offer him a word of 
thanks. I have tried to atone for the 
latter incivilit3^ ; but I could not per- 
suade him to accept the smallest sum. 
It does not appear as if the director 
had so ‘ excellentl3^ arranged ’ this 
matter.” 

Arthur bit his lips : he knew to 
whom these last words were directed, 
although they had been spoken to his 
father. 

“ It seems, then, that 3’ou sent for 
him of 3’our own accord ? ” he asked. 

“ Certainly.” 

“ I wish 3’ou had not done this ! ” 
said Berkow excitedly. “ This Hart- 
mann is on all sides recognized as the 
revolutionar3" element among the worli- 
men ; and I was about to deal with him 
with the utmost severity. I now see 
plainly that too much has not been 
told me. It is evident that this man 
rejected the mone3", because in pa3ung 
it we did not enter into those extrav- 
agant formalities his pride demands. 
Yes, he is capable of all this. I must 
remind you, Eugenie, that my daugh- 
ler-in-law must pay regard to certain 
considerations, even when she would 


give a proof of her generosit3'.” Upon 
Eugenie’s haught3’ lips again la3^ that 
scornful expression with which already 
she had often enough met her father- 
in-law. The remembrance of that to 
which he had driven her was certainly 
not in the least calculated to make 
her accede to his wishes ; and the 
anger, newly flaming up at this recol- 
lection, made her overlook the justice 
of his demand. 

“ I regret, Herr Berkow, that other 
considerations must still have weight 
with me, besides that of being 3’our 
daughter-in-law,” returned she icil3^ 
“ This was an exceptional case ; and 
3'ou must allow me in all such cases, 
for the future, to make m3" own judg- 
ment the sole guide of my actions.” 

It was again eveiy inch the Baron- 
ess Windeg, who sent back the ple- 
beian millionnaire to his prescribed 
limits. But angered past endurance, 
or excited b3" the wine he had taken 
at dinner, he did not this time show 
his usual unlimited respect ^to his 
daughter-in-law. He replied excited- 
13", — 

“ Really? Well, then, I must beg 
3"ou to remember” — further he did 
not go ; for Arthur, who had hith- 
erto remained quiell3" in the back- 
ground, now came to his wife’s side, 
and said calml3", 

“Above all things, I implore 3''ou, 
papa, to let this troublesome affair 
rest. I have given Eugenie the full- 
est libert3^ in all such matters ; and I 
do not wish that any one should seek 
to restrict her in this.” 

Berkhow looked at his son as if he 
had not heard aright. He was accus- 
tomed to see Arthur allow all events, 
weighty or trifling, to pass b3" him 
with the same passive indifference ; 
and he knew not what to think of this 
sudden interference. 

“ You appear to be in a rebellious 
mood to-da3’,” he said sarcastically. 
‘ ‘ I think I may as well take flight 
from this united opposition, especially 
as I have business matters to attend to. 
I hope to find you somewhat less quar- 
relsome to-morrow, Eugenie, and my 
son rather more tractable than he has 
been to-day. I wish you both a good 
evening. ” 


30 


GOOD LUCK. 



As 'with ill3^-repressecl rage he left 
the room, Berkow had no suspicion 
that, b}" this sudden departure, he had 
thrown the ne'wlj'-married pair into an 
embarrassment they had not known 
since the evening of their arrival, name- 
13", that of being left alone together. 
They had since then met only in the 
compan3’ of strangers, or at table, in 
the presence of the servants ; and this 
unexpected tete-a-tete was unwelcome 
to both. Arthur might well feel that 
he could not at once follow his father 
without addressing a few words to his 
wife ; but several moments passed be- 
fore he could force himself to sa3^ a 
word ; and he did not speak until Eu- 
genie said coldl3", — 

‘ ‘ It w^as not necessaiy for 3'ou to 
come to my help. I could veiy well 
alone have maintained m3" independ- 
ence of 3*our father.” 

“ I doubt not in the least 3’our 
independence,” replied Arthur in an 
equall3" cool tone ; “but I doubt 1113" 
father’s delicacy of feeling in regard 
to certain things. He was just about 
to bring to 3’our remembrance some 
facts which I did not wish 3*011 to 
hear. That was the sole reason of 
m3" interference.” 

The 3'oung woman 'was silent. She 
leaned back in her chair ; while Ar- 
thur, who stood at the table, seized 
the fan l3*ing there, and apparentl3* 
with the deepest interest studied the 
arabesques upon it. After another 
uncomfortable silence, he said at 
length, — 

“As to that Hartmann affair, I 
wonder at 3*our self-delusion. Such 
circles and such persons must, of all 
others, be 3*our antipatly.” 

Eugenie’s large e3*es opened wide ; 
and in their dark depths la3* a world 
of contempt. “ I have an antipathy 
to weakness and vulgarit3*,” she said, 
“ but to nothing else. I respect ever3’ 
one who fiill3" and energeticall3" main- 
tains his place in life, whether upon 
the heights or down in the valle3"s.” 

There was a hard tone in her voice. 
Arthur’s hand still pla3’ed carelessly 
with the fan ; but there w'as something 
nervous in this pla3* and in the tremor 
of his lips. He had started involun- 
tarilj* when she spoke of weakness 


and \Tilgarit3", although his face pre- 
served through all the most perfect 
indifference. 

“A very exalted sentiment,” he 
said negligently. “ Onl3" I fear you 
would suffer some disillusion, should 
3*ou form nearer acquaintance with 
that wild, rough creature who rules 
down there in the valley.” 

‘ ‘ But this 3'oung miner is no com- 
mon individual,” declared Eugenie 
veiy decidedly. “He ma3" be wild 
and uncontrollable, as a man of such 
native strength is in danger of becom- 
ing under untoward circumstances ; 
but rough I have not found him.” 

Unconsciousl3" to herself, her voice 
was somewhat excited. Arthur’s e3*es 
had again that half-smothered fire in 
their glance, as he fixed them upon 
her. 

“You seem to have won strange 
power over this wdld, uncontrollable, 
strong man,” he said. “He was 
about to attack m3’' father : 3*011 only 
touched his arm with 3*our fan, and 
the raging lion became gentle as a 
lamb.” The 3*oung man’s slender 
white hand here shut the fan so vio- 
lentU*, that the costl3" toy was in seri- 
ous danger, while he mockingl3^ went 
on, “And how chivalric was his 
manner as he bowed over 3*0111* hand ! 
If we had not come, I believe he 
would, like a true cavalier, have 
begged to kiss that hand.” 

With a passionate gesture, Eugenie 
rose. “I fear, Arthur,” she said, 

‘ ‘ that this man will ere long give 
3*ou and 3*0111* father something more 
than sport ; and I do not know but 
3*0111* father would do w*ell to drive his 
underlings into a 3*et fiercer opposi- 
tion : the consequences might fall 
back on himself.” 

Her husband looked at her with a 
quiet, unmoved glance as she thus 
stood before him: to him, this rust- 
ling silk dress, this fieec3" cloud of 
lace strewn with roses, this glitter of 
pearls, was nothing new, aiy" more 
than the beautiful blonde head with 
the proud features, and the dark eyes 
now flashing with anger. Perhaps 
the livel3" partisanship she showed for 
her 2^rote'ge was new to hiin. He still 
retained the careless, mocking tone 


GOOD LUCK. 


SI 


lie had maintained during the whole 
interview ; but behind this lay con- 
cealed something like raging passion ; 
and the fan met with sad misfor- 
tune in his hands. The delicate, ar- 
tisticall3*-carved ivoiy was broken, as 
he hurled rather than tbi'ew it on 
the floor. 

‘ ‘ Did our ‘ deliverer ’ give you a 
lecture upon social matters ? I regret 
to have missed the lecture ; but at any 
rate this Hartmann is a curiosit3\ 
He has brought about what no other 
could possibl}^ have done : he has 
caused an animated conversation be- 
tween us. But the interest in this 
theme is now quite exhausted. Don’t 
3^ou think so ? ” 

The entrance of a servant with a 
message ended the conversation. 
Arthur at once availed himself of this 
excuse to withdraw ; he parted from 
his wife coldly and ceremoniousl}", as 
was their usual custom. Hardly had 
Eugenie found herself alone, before, 
in an excitement she could not repress, 
she began to pace up and down the 
room. She was enraged at the cold- 
ness and heartlessness they showed 
toward Ulrich’s deed ; but it was not 
this alone which made her step so 
hast}*, and drove the flush of anger to 
her cheeks. 

Why could she never meet her hus- 
band with that perfect contempt it 
was so easy to show to his father? 
Was he any more worthy of respect? 
There lay in this boundless indolence 
something which parried every thrust, 
and frequently gave him a secret su- 
periority to the proud, passionate wo- 
man who only too often allowed tem- 
per to gain the mastery. It had been 
present in the deep humiliation of 
that evening, w^hen, with such over- 
whelming frankness, she had revealed 
to him the whole tiTith ; it had been 
present in that heaviest offence of to- 
day, When she had shown him how 
falsely he had dealt with his and her 
rescuer : and both times he had met 
her in a manner which proved that he 
could not speedily be killed or annihi- 
lated by contempt. 

'She would not acknowledge this ; 
she would not confess it ev^n to her- 
self, — how it wounded her, that, since 


that first explanation, he had not 
made the slightest effort to dissolve 
the truly icy relations between them 
by one single w*ord. Certainly she 
would have repelled every such effort 
w*ith the disdainful pride always at 
her command : but that he never 
gave her the opportunity to do this, 
that he never took the trouble to go a 
step beyond w*hat etiquette demand- 
ed, — that enraged her against her 
will. Eugenie was a woman strong 
in both her loves and hates ; and her 
aversion to her husband was decided 
even before she gave him her hand ; 
but,. like his father, he did not permit 
her to look down upon him from an 
unapproachable height. The young 
wife dimly felt this, although she 
could give no reason w*hy he compelled 
this sentiment in her. 

As Arthur was passing through the 
corridor, he met the director and the 
chief engineer, who both, having been 
detained for an interview with Berkow, 
were about to leave the house. Young 
Berkow suddenly paused. 

“May I ask. Hen’ Director,” he 
said sharply, “ why Hartmann’s refu- 
sal to accept that money was first 
communicated to my wife, while I did 
not hear a word of it ? ” 

“Good heavens!” replied the di- 
rector, somewhat embarrassed. “I 
did not know you thought it of any 
consequence. Hen Berkow. You so 
emphatically declined all personal in- 
terference in the matter, while her 
ladyship showed such interest, that I 
believed myself bound ” — 

“Ah!” interrupted Arthur, while 
there was a slight nervous quiver 
around his lips . “ Well , her ladyship’s 
wishes must certainly be followed ; but 
still, I must beg you in such business 
matters ” — he emphasized that word 
‘ ‘ business ” — “ not so fully to ignore 
me as in this case. And I should 
wish in future to be first informed. I 
request this most decidedly.” 

With these words he left the non- 
plussed officers, and went to his cham- 
ber. The director looked at his col- 
league. “ What say you to that? ” 

The chief engineer laughed. ‘ ‘ Signs 
and wonders are frequent in our day. 
Herr Arthur begin to concern him- 


33 


GOOD LUCK. 


self about business affairs ! Herr Ar- 
thur demand an}" thing emphatically ! 
This certainly has not happened be- 
fore in my remembrance.” 

“ But this is not at all a matter of 
business,” said the director excitedly : 
“ it is a purely private affair ; and I 
can just imagine the whole story. 
Hartmann must have treated her lady- 
ship in his own peculiarly amiable 
way. Just imagine him in a lady’s 
salon ! He probably said to her face 
what he said to me this morning ; and 
her ladyship is angry, the young heir 
also. ' I shall doubtless hear some 
polite phrases from old Berkow be- 
cause I allowed the audience.” 

“Well, it is the first time Herr 
Arthur has been angry at any thing 
that concerned his young wife,” said 
the chief engineer, as they w"ent to- 
gether down the steps. “ I find that 
the glacial atmosphere which prevails 
in this marriage begins to pervade 
the entire surroundings. One per- 
ceives the ice-region as soon as he 
comes near them. Do you not think 
so? ” 

“ I think that Frau Berkow to-day 
looked enchantingly beautiful. She 
was certainly very cold and very aris- 
tocratic, but entirely, bewilderingiy 
beautiful ! ” 

The chief engineer made a comic 
gesture of terror. 

“ Heaven help us ! You are falling 
into Wilberg’s style. It is a good 
thing for you that you are past fifty. 
Apropos of Wilberg, he already 
swims in a sea of romantic adoration ; 
but I do not believe that this, or his 
inevitable verses, will awaken any 
great jealousy in Herr Arthur’s breast. 
He seems as little inclined to bestow 
admiration on his beautiful wife as 
she to receive it. Amid all these 
daily convenances^ I cannot help feel- 
ing that things will not take their 
usual course. I suspect that under 
this ice lies buried something like a 
Vulcan, wdio, one of these fine days, 
will break loose with thunder and 
lightning, to give us a bit of an earth- 
quake and a worldly overthrow.” 

“ Then there w"ould be a flavor of 
poesy in ‘ this barren steppe of com- 
monplace life,’ as Wilberg would 


say, provided the eruption only 
spared him and his guitar. But 
here w"e are below. Pleasant dreams 
to you, my friend. Gliick auf,’* 


VI. 

More than four weeks had passed 
since the bridal festivities on the Ber- 
kow estates. Herr Berkow, having 
found little of his anticipated pleasure 
in the very early visit Vvhich he had 
designed as an agreeable surprise to 
his children, had, after a few days, 
returned to the Residence, wdiere 
urgent business affairs demanded his 
attention. Now he was expected for 
a longer sojourn. 

Meantime, there had been no 
change in the life of the young mar- 
ried pair, save that, if possible, it 
had become more estranged, colder 
and more aristocratic than at first. 
Both seemed to long for the end of 
the “ hone}Tnoon,” which they had 
undertaken to pass in this country 
solitude. But here they must remain 
until summer made possible a longer 
journey, from which they wxre to re- 
turn to their fixed abode, the Resi- 
dence. Herr Berkow had already 
arranged the future household, which 
was to be on a scale of the most 
prodigal expenditure. 

His day’s work had ended early ; 
and Ulrich Hartmann was returning 
to his father’s house ; but he was 
forced to moderate his usually rapid 
step, for Herr Wilberg w-as at his 
side. This young gentleman had 
literally taken him prisoner, and 
w"ould not let him go. It w-as a 
strange thing to see one of the officers 
in such confidential relations with the 
miner, Hartmann ; and stranger yet 
w"as the fact that the advances all 
came from Herr Wilberg. But there 
was something more in this than the 
well-known law that opposites attract. 
The chief engineer had no presenti- 
ment as to what his idle jest woidd 
lead. His sportive hint that Hart- 
mann and his heroic deed would form 
the subject for a ballad just in Wil- 
berg’s style had fallen upon an all 


GOOD LUCK. 


33 


too susceptible soil. Wilberg bad 
seriously decided to work up this 
material into a poem ; only he was in 
doubt whether the proposed- master- 
piece should be ballad, epic, or 
drama : he never for a moment 
doubted that the varied excellences 
of these three modes of poetic art 
were all united in his own genius. 

Unhappily for Ulrich, his energetic 
and courageous deed had fully im- 
pressed this rising poet with the idea 
that he vms especially designed for a 
tragic hero ; and Wilberg followed 
him around like his shadow, so as to 
study so interesting a character. 
When our poet learned that Ulrich 
had haughtily refused the proffered rec- 
ompense, the romantic nimbus before 
his eyes grew to a radiance nothing 
could dispel, — not even the rudeness 
of the idolized hero, nor the cutting 
remarks of the oflScers, who were dis- 
pleased with an intimacy with one so 
unfitted for their higher circle. 

Ulrich showed little inclination for 
being thus made a ‘ ‘ study ” of by 
the would-be poet : often enough, and 
most impatiently, he sought to shake 
off the intrusive companionship, as 
one would shake off a troublesome 
fly ; but with small success. Wilberg 
was determined to see a hero in him, 
— a rough, wild, untamable hero, to 
be sure ; but the more unamiable he 
grew, the more delighted was our 
poet at this clear development of the 
character he sought to depict, and 
studied him with all the more ardor. 
The young master-miner at length, 
with a shrug of the shoulders, yielded 
to the inevitable. At last, each be- 
coming wonted to the other’s socie- 
t}^, a sort of intimacy really sprang 
up between them ; in which, however, 
there was little of respect on Hart- 
mann’s side. 

The wind blew rather cold from the 
north. Herr Wilberg carefully but- 
toned his paletot^ and drew his thick 
woollen shawl around him, while he 
said with a sigh, — 

“You are a happy man,' Hart- 
mann, with 3'our giant nature, and 
3wr giant health. You go up and 
down the mines in heat and cold ; 
3'ou stand unprotected in the biting 
3 • 


winds ; while I must carefully guard 
myself from every change of tempera- 
ture. And I am so nervous, so 
sensitive, so excitable ! That comes 
from the intellect being all too much 
for the body. Yes, Hartmann, it 
arises from a preponderance of 
thought and feeling.” 

“ I think it comes, Herr Wilberg, 
from 3’our eternal tea-drinking,” re- 
plied Ulrich, with a half-sympathetic 
glance upon the little sickly officer. 
“ If, eveiy morning and evening, 3'ou 
gulp down that thin, hot stuff, you 
can never be stroflg.” 

Wilberg, with a consciousness of 
infinite mental superiorit3^, gazed up 
to his adviser. “ You do not under- 
stand, Hartmann,” he said : “ I could 
not possibl3" endure 3-our rough diet : 
my constitution is not fitted for it. 
And then tea is a highly sesthetic 
drink. It enlivens me ; it inspires 
me when the commonplace work of 
the day is ended ; and in the silent 
evening hours the Muses draw 
nigh ”^— 

“You mean when 3’ou make 
verses ? ” interrupted Ulrich dryly. 
“ And you need tea for that? Yes, 
I should think so.” 

Happily, just at that moment, a 
rhyme passed through the head of the 
insulted poet, and he must hold it 
fast; so he scarce heard Ulrich’s 
words. The next moment he said 
good-humoredl3^, — 

“ I have a request to make of 3"OU, 
Hartmann. Yes, an entreaty, a de- 
mand,” he added, mounting to a 
regular climax. “ You must grant it 
at any price. You ard in possession 
of an object which to 3’ou is entirely 
worthless, and which would make me 
the happiest of mortals. You must 
3'ield it to me.” 

“What must I 3deld to 3'OU?” 
asked Ulrich, who, as usual when 
AYilberg spoke, had only half lis- 
tened. 

Herr Wilberg blushed, sighed, 
glanced at the ground, sighed a sec- 
ond time, and then thought proper to 
explain. “ You remember the day 
when you saved her ladyship’s life. 
Ah, Hartmann ! it is an eternal shame 
that 3’ou have no sensibility for the 


34 


GOOD LUCK. 


poetry of that situation. If I had 
only been in your place ! But enough 
of that. Our lady otfered 3^011 her own 
handkerchief to sta}’ the blood of your 
wound. You kept it in your hand 
because help at once came from an- 
other source. M3" God ! 3’ou cannot 
possibl3" have forgotten such an oc- 
currence.” 

“ Well, what about the handker- 
chief?” asked Ulrich, all at once 
roused to attention. 

“ I wish do possess it,” murmured 
Wilberg, casting down his e3"es with 
a melanchol3" air. ‘ ‘ Demand from me 
whatever you will, but give me this 
dear souvenir of a woman I adore.” 

“ You!” cried Ulrich in a tone 
which made his companion recoil, 
and gaze anxiousl3’ around to see if 
an3’ one was near. 

“ Do not scream so, Hartmann ! 
You have no need to be horrified be- 
cause I adore the wife of our future 
chief. It is something entirel3" differ- 
ent from the common acceptation of 
love ; that is — ah ! but you certain- 
13" do not know what Platonic love 
means.” 

‘ ‘ No ! ” returned the 3wng miner 
curtly, hastening his pace, and evi- 
denti3" determined to break off the 
conversation. 

“ You could not possibl3’ under- 
stand that,” declared Herr Wilberg 
with infinite self-satisfaction: for 
3'ou never could or would soar to that 
exalted purity of feeling of which 
onl3’ the highest culture is capable ; 
of feeling, which, without an3" hope, — 
a3’, without even a wish, — contents 
itself with a mute, blessed, distant 
adoration. Otherwise, what think 
3'ou a man could do, who loved a wo- 
man belonging to another ? ” 

“ One must conquer this love,” 
said Ulrich griml3'', “ or” — 

‘ ‘ Or what ? ” 

“ Kill his rival.” 

Herr Wilberg with wonderful cele- 
rit3" retreated to the other side of the 
road, where he paused in hoiTor. 

“What barbarit30 With murder, 
with the death-blow, would 3’ou attest 
3"ourlove? You are a terrible man, 
Hartmann ! And 3’ou sa3" this with a 
tone, with a glance — Our gracious 


lady was quite right when she called 
3^ou an untamable nature, who” — 

“Did she call me that?” inter- 
rupted Hartmann excitedl3". 

“ ‘ A wild, untamable nature ! ’ those 
were her words, — a highly intellec- 
tual expression, and perfectl3" appro- 
priate in this case. Hartmann,” — 
the young officer slowly and timidly 
ventured nearer, — “ Hartmann, I 
might forgive you all this, all 3’ou 
have just said ; but what I never can 
forgive is 3’our detestable behavior 
to our lady. Have you, then, no 03^6 
for that grace and beauty which dis- 
arm even the roughest of your com- 
rades, that 3’ou shun her glance as if 
it w’ould bring 3mu calamity ? When 
3’ou see her carriage in the distance, 
3’ou turn awa3" ; when she drives b3', 
you retreat into the first house that 
offers. You make a dail3' circuit 
around the director’s house when 3’ou 
go to 3’^our daily work, for fear 3’ou 
ma3* meet her at the park-gate, and 
be obliged to salute her. Oh this ob- 
stinate class-hatred which spares not 
even women ! I repeat it, 3’ou are a 
terrible man ! ” 

Ulrich was silent. Contrary to his 
habit, he let this reproach pass with- 
out a S3dlable in repl3’ ; thus strength- 
ening Herr Wilberg in the happy 
illusion that his words at last were of 
some avail. Greatl3" encouraged, he 
began anew. 

'“ And now, returning to the main 
subject, — the haudkerbhief ” — 

“ How do I know where the thing 
is ? ” interrupted Ulrich roughl3\ 
“ It ma3" be lost; or Martha may 
have returned it. I know nothing 
about it.” 

Wilberg was almost beside himself 
at such indifference to a treasure in 
his e3’es so infinitel3^ precious ; when, 
on glancing up, he chanced to see 
Martha coming out of the overseer’s 
house, which the3" had meantime ap- 
proached. Like a sparrow-hawk, the 
young officer shot to her side, and 
began to question her about the 
handkerchief, — whether it had been 
given back, or Avhether it might not 
possibl3" be somewhere around the 
house. At first the girl did not 
seem to understand him ; but, as she 


GOOD LUCK. 


35 


comprehended, a shadow passed over 
her face. 

“ The handkerchief is still here,” 
she said : “ I thought one day I would 
return it ; so I took it, and washed 
out the blood : but Ulrich stormed 
like a savage because I had meddled 
with the handkerchief. He has it 
now in his chest.” 

“ Ah ! and this Avas only an excuse 
to deny me the desired object ! ” cried 
Wilberg with a reproachful glance at 
Ulrich, who had listened with bitter 
vexation, and now scornfully said, — 

“ You may as well be content, 
Herr Wilberg. The handkerchief 
3’ou cannot have.” 

“ And wli}" not, may I ask? ” 

“ Because I shall keep it,” replied 
Ulrich dryly. 

“ But, Hartmann” — 

“ When I once say ‘No,’ I keep my 
word. You know that, Herr Wii- 
berg.” 

Wilberg raised eyes and hands to 
Heaven, as if he would call upon the 
celestial powers to witness these 
repeated insults ; but all at once his 
arms sank powerless, and he gave 
a sudden start, as a voice behind Mar- 
tha said, — 

“Can 3'ou tell me, dear child — 
Ah, Herr Wilberg, do I intrude?” 

Herr Wilberg stood speechless, as 
much from despair as from ecstasy at 
this unexpected meeting ; for he was 
quite overcome bj' the annihilating 
consciousness, that, in a blue paletot 
and a green shawl, with a nose red- 
dened b}" the sharp winds, he must 
now- appear before this high-born 
ladv, who had hitherto seen him onU 
in the most elegant societ3’-dress. 
He knew how very unbecoming to j 
him was this arraj of colors ; and, 
onl3^ an hour ago, he had made a sol- 
emn vow to exchange the green shawl 
for one more suitable : but now un- 
toward destinv had brought him be- 
fore the very e3’es of his ideal. Herr 
AVilberg wished himself in the lowest 
shaft of the mines ; but still, in his 
embarjL’assment, he had sense enough 
to be vexed with Ulrich, who, in 
clothes all covered with the dust of 
his work, stood right before the lad3" 
motionless, as a statue. 


Eugenie had ' been walking along 
the road leading past the overseer’s 
house ; and had, unremarked, entered 
the garden, where she saw 01113^ Mar- 
tha. She had received no answer to 
her half-linished question ; for both 
men were silent until Martha said, — 

“ AVe were speaking of the hand- 
kerchief 3’ou gave us for a bandage, 
and which has not 3’et been re- 
turned.” 

“Ah, 3'es ! m3^ handkerchief,” 

replied Eugenie indifferentl3\ “ I 
had entirely forgotten it ; but if 3'ou 
have been so careful about keeping 
it, child, 3’ou can hand it back to 
me.” 

“ It is Ulrich who has it, not I.” 
said Martha, her searching glance 
resting upon Ulrich ; and Eugenie 
now gazed somewhat surprised upon 
the 3’oung man, who had not even 
greeted her. 

“Ah! 3’ou, Hartmann? AAull 3’ou 
then return it to me ? ” 

Herr AVilberg had new occasion to ' 
be vexed at Ulrich’s “ detestable be- 
havior ; ” for he stood there immovable, 
his brow contracted, his lips com- 
pressed, with an expression of that 
dogged obstinac3" Avith Avhich he had 
armed himself upon his entrance into 
the lady’s salon. It was evident that 
he must realU fight down his hatred 
against the young wife of his chief ; 
but this time his better nature con- 
quered. 

Herr AA^'ilberg remarked how the 
first tones of his voice trembled with 
shame at his behavior, hoAv the gloAv- 
ing red mounted to his forehead, how 
the hostilit3^ and obstinac3- of his 
manner vanished. The lecture he 
i had just given must be having its 
efi'ect : hoAV else could this iron- 
headed Hartmann, OA^er whom persua- 
sion and coercion Avere alike Avitliout 
avail, liaA'e vielded a dumb obedience 
to that one request, as uoav, Avhen he 
Avent into tlite house, and after the 
lapse of a feAv minutes came back 
Avith the handkerchief in his hand. 

“ Here, 3’our ladyship.” 

Eugenie indifferently took the 
handkerchief, upon Avliicli she did not 
seem to set the slightest value. 

“ And noAV, Herr AVilberg, as you 


36 


GOOD LUCK. 


are here, you can give me some infor- 
mation. I came this way for the first 
time ; and find the bridge leading to 
the park closed b}’. a gate. Can it 
not be opened ? and must I take the 
circuitous route back tiirough the 
entire works?” 

She pointed to the bridge only a 
few steps distant, which led to the 
park on this side, and which was pro- 
tected b}' an iron gate. Herr Wil- 
berg was in despair. The bridge was 
closed. The}^ wished to make it im- 
passable to the workmen who had 
their dwellings on this side ; but the 
gardener had the ke3^ Wilberg 
would run, yes fi}', to fetch it, if her 
ladyship could wait so long . 

“ Qh, no,, indeed!” replied Eu- 
genie a little impatientl}'. “ Then 
you would have twice to go the whole 
distance I seek to shun ; and the 
waiting would be rather too long. I 
prefer to go around.” 

Wilberg would not consent to this. 
He begged and entreated the lady to 
grant him the pleasure of this knight- 
ly service ; but in the midst of his 
well-arranged speech a loud crash 
was heard. 

Ulrich had approached the gate, 
and grasped it with both hands. He 
shook the iron bars with such vio- 
lence, that the fastenings groaned. 
But, as the}' did not yield at once, an 
angry flush passed over the miner’s 
face ; an energetic kick broke bolt 
and lock ; the gate flew open. 

“For God’s sake, Hartmann, what 
are j’^ou doing?” cried Wilberg in 
affright. “ What will Herr Berkow 
say?” 

Ulrich gave him no answer. He 
opened wide the gate, and, turning 
around, coolly said, — 

“ The wa}' is open, your lad}’- 
ship.” 

Eugenie did not look so thunder- 
struck as the young officer. She 
laughed as she entered the way so 
violently opened. “ I thank 3’ou, 
Hartmann,” she said; “and as for the 
spoiled lock, Herr . Wilberg, give 
yourself no uneasiness. I will be 
answerable for that. But, as the gate 
is open, will you not also take the 
short way leading thi’ough the pai’k?” 


What a condescension ! Herr 
Wilberg did not hasten : he rushed, 
he flew, to the lady’s side, and began 
to rack his brains for some topic of 
conversation, interesting and intellec- 
tual as possible. But he was forced 
to content himself with something 
veiy prosaic ; for Eugenie turned back 
her head with that same earnest, 
thoughtful glance which had once 
before vainly sought to penetrate the 
contradictoiy, enigmatical waj's of 
this man. 

“This Hartmann has' a real Ber- 
serker strength and a Berserker vio- 
lence. Without hesitation he shiv- 
ered lock and bolt, onl}’ ” — 

‘ ‘ Only to open a more convenient 
path for me,” added Eugenie in a 
slightly ironical tone, as she glanced 
at her companion. “ You would not 
have been guilty of so stormy a piece 
of politeness, Herr Wilberg ? ” 

Herr Wilberg protested waiTnly 
against such a supposition. Her 
ladj’ship surel}’ could not believe that 
he would so violentl}” assail the prop- 
ert}’ of another, and in her very pres- 
ence ! But her ladyship heard this 
assurance with an absent air ; and, 
during the whole walk, Herr Wilberg, 
with all his efforts, could not once 
fetter her attention. 

Hartmann had again closed the 
gate, and w'as slowly turning back to 
the house ; but before the door he 
paused, and gazed steadily at the 
park in whose alleys the two figures 
had vanished. 

“ I thought when you once said 
‘ No,’ Ulrich, no it remained.” 

The young man turned hastily 
around ; and his sullen glance fell 
upon Martha, who stood at his side. 

“ What is that to you?” he asked 
roughly. 

“To me? nothing. Do not look 
so cross, Ulrich. You are angry 
with me because I reminded our lad}' 
of her handkerchief ; but it belonged 
to her. And what would you do with 
that delicate white thing? You could 
not even touch it when yon came 
home from work ; and you had really 
gazed at it enough.” 

There lay a light, but still uncon- 
cealed tone of ii’ony in the girl’s 


GOOD LUCK. 


37 


voice ; and Ulricli must have felt this ; 
for he said hastily, — 

“Leave me alone with your jeers 
and 3'our spring. I tell you, Mar- 
tha ” — 

“Well, well! what is the matter 
outside there ? Are you quarrelling ? ” 
interrupted the overseer, who now 
stood in the doorway. 

Ulrich turned sullenly awa}^ He 
seemed to have no desire to continue 
the quarrel ; while IMartha, without 
answering her uncle, hurried past him 
into the house. 

‘ ‘ What is the matter vdth the 
girl ? ” asked the overseer, ‘ ‘ and what 
is it between you both ? Have 3’ou 
again been talking roughly to her?” 

Ulrich, with a scornful gesture, 
threw himself on a bench. 

‘ ‘ I am not going to ’be dictated to 
as to what I shall do, and least of all 
by Martha.” 

“ She surely w'ould do nothing to 
grieve yow,” said the father calmly. 

‘ ‘ And why not me ? ” 

The overseer looked steadily at his 
son, and said, “ Have you no eyes in 
your head, or will 3'ou not see it? 
But 3’ou really have never troubled 
5’ourself about this girl ; and it is no 
wonder you do not at all understand 
her.” 

“ What am I to understand, then ? ” 
asked the 3'oung man, all at once 
grooving attentive. 

The father took the pipe out of his 
mouth, and blew forth a cloud of 
smoke. “That Mat’tha loves j'ou,” 
he replied. 

‘ ‘ Martha 1 Me ! ” 

‘ ‘ I reall}’ believe he did not know 
it before ! ” said the overseer in un- 
feigned astonishment. ‘ ‘ And his old 
father must first tell it to him ! But 
that comes from having one’s nose 
forever stuck in things that bewilder 
the brain. God knows, Ulrich, that 
it is time you had done with all this 
stuff and nonsense, and took a sensi- 
ble wife, who would bring 3'ou to bet- 
ter thoughts.” 

Ulrich glanced over to the park, 
and his eyes again took on their 
former sullen, gloomy expression. 
“ You are right, father,” he said 
slov/ly : “it is time ! ” 


The old man almost let fall liis 
pipe from astonishment. “ Bo^y this 
is the first reasonable word I have 
heard from 3^011. Are 3^011 really com- 
ing to 3^our senses? Yes, indeed it is 
time I You could long ago have sup- 
ported a wife ; and, far and near, 3^ 
will find no prettier, better, or more 
sensible girl than Martha. I need 
not tell 3'ou how glad I should be to 
have 3'ou many. Now think the 
matter over.” 

The 3’oung man had sprung from 
his seat, and was now hastil3’' walking 
up and down. “ Perhaps it would be 
best. There must be an end to all 
this, — that I have again seen to-da3’, 
— and the sooner the better.” 

“ What is it? With what must an 
end be made ? ” 

“Nothing, father, nothing! But 
3’ou are quite right : if I onl3^ had a 
wife, I should know where I and my 
thoughts belonged. , Do 3W really 
believe that Martha likes me ? ” 

“Go and ask her 3’ourself ,” cried 
the overseer, laughing. “Do you 
think the girl would still be in our 
house if she cared to marry another? 
She certainl3^ has wooers a plent3\ I 
know enough who want her ; and 
Lorenz, for a 3'ear and a da3’, has 
wooed in vain. He has won no Yes; 
but 3’ou, if 3’ou will, can receive one 
this ver3^ da3\” 

Ulrich listened intentl3’' ; but, in 
spite of this flattering assertion, his 
face showed little happiness or con- 
tent. He looked as. if he was forcing 
down a rebellious something that would 
not let him come to a decision ; and 
there was a wildness and convulsive- 
ness in the sudden resolution with 
which he now said, — 

“ Ver3’ well, if 3’ou think I shall 
not receive a refusal, I will speak 
with Martha.” 

‘ ‘ Must it be right awm3’ ? ” asked 
the overseer, perplexed. “ Ulrich, 
people do not woo in this headlong 
manner, especiall3' if a quarter of an 
hour before the3' have had no idea of 
it. First reflect upon the matter.” 

Ulrich made an impatient gesture. 
‘ ‘ Wh3" this long dela3' ? I must know 
where I stand. Let me go in, 
father!” .. 


38 


GOOD LUCK. 


The father shook his head : but he 
had too much fear lest his son might 
waver in this sudden resolution to 
place any serious obstacle in his way. 
In his joy of heart, it troubled him 
little that this union for which he had 
so ardently longed was to be brought 
about in a somewhat unusual way : so 
he concluded to remain outside and 
let the 3^oung people arrange matters 
undisturbed ; for he knew Ulrich w^ell 
enough to be aware that au}’ untimety 
interference on his part might spoil 
all. 

The 3^oung man, meantime, as if 
he w’ould not allow himself a moment 
for reflection, strode quickly through 
the hall, and opened the door of the 
sitting-room, where Martha was. 
Martha sat at a table, the hands usu- 
ally so busy idl}" folded on her lap. 
She did not glance up as he entered, 
and seemed not to notice that he 
stood close by her chair ; but he saw 
tliat she had been weeping. 

“ Does it still grieve 3'ou, Martha, 
m3* just speaking so unkindl3*? I am 
sorr3* : wh3'' do 3’ou look at me in 
that wa3'?” 

‘ ‘ Because it is the first time 3*ou 
have been grieved or sorr3’' on m3* 
account. You have never before 
asked whether I was glad or sorrow- 
ful. Let it be so to-day.” 

The tone sounded cold and repel- 
lent enough, but Ulrich did not allow 
himself to be frightened awa3*. His 
father’s revelation must have had a 
powerful effect upon his storniy na- 
ture ; for his voice was unusuall3" mild,, 
as he answ*ered, — 

“I know that I am a great deal 
worse than the others, but I cannot 
change at once. You must take me just 
as I am, and perhaps you w*ill make 
something better out of me.” 

The girl had, at his first tone, 
glanced up surprised. Something 
unusual must have been in his face, 
for she made a hasty movement to 
rise. Ulrich held her fast. 

‘‘Remain here, Martha! I have 
to speak with 3*011. I w*ant to ask 3*011 
— well I cannot make man3" words, 
and betw*een us that is unnecessar3*. 
We are brother and sister’s 'children ; 
we have for 3*ears lived together in 


the same house. You best know 
what 3*011 have to expect from me ; 
and 3’ou know that I have alwa3*s 
liked 3*011 in spite of all our quarrels. 
Will 3*011 be 1113* wife, Martha?” 

The wooing came so hastil3*, so 
rashty, so stormil3*, and was so like 
the nature of the wooer ! He drew a 
deep breath, as if w*ith the decisive 
words a burden had rolled from his 
heart. Martha still sat unmovable 
before him, a deep pallor on her 
usually blooming face ; but she did 
not waver or dela3^ an instant before 
giving her answer, a low, half-stifled 
‘ Wo.’ 

Ulrich could not believe his senses. 
“ Will you not?” he asked. 

“No, Ulrich, I will not ! ” repeated 
Martha in a hollow* but decided voice. 

The 3’oung man sprang angril3* to 
his feet. “ Well, then, I might have 
saved m3^self this long speech,” he 
said. “My father erred, and I also: 
do not be oflfended, Martha.” 

Bitterl3^ wounded in his manly 
pride, he was about to leave the room, 
when a glance from Martha forced 
him to remain. She had risen, and 
w*ith both hands, grasped the arm of 
her chair, as if she must have this 
support. No w*ord of repl3" or of 
explanation passed her lips ; but those 
lips trembled so violentl3*, and in her 
pale face was such unutterable w*oe, 
that Ulrich felt his father must be 
right in spite of all. 

“ I believed 3*011 love me, Martha,” 
he said in a slightl3* reproachful tone- 

W’'ith a passionate’ gesture she 
tuaned from him, and buried her face 
in her hands ; but he heard a sound, 
which was as of sobs, with difKcult3^ 
repressed. 

“ I might have reflected that I am 
too wild, too rough for 3*011. You are 
afraid of me : 3*011 think, that, after 
marriage, it might be even worse. In 
Lorenz 3*011 certainl3* will find a bet- 
ter man, who will do in all things as 
3*011 w*ish.” 

The girl shook her head, and SI0WI3" 
turned her face to his. “I do not 
fear 3*011,” she said, “ even if 3*011 are 
rough and violent : I know 3*011 cannot 
be otherwuse. I would, have taken 
3*ou just as 3*ou are, perhaps gladl3* ; 


GOOD LUCK. 


39 


but I will not accept you as you now 
are, as 3^011 have been since the day 
her ladyship came.” 

Ulrich trembled. A flaming red 
shot up into his face. He knew he 
ought to flv into a passion, to angri- 
ly command her silence ; but not a 
- syllable broke from his lips. 

‘‘Uncle thinks that ^’ou care for 
no one, that you have other thoughts 
in }^our head,” continued Martha, still 
more excitedly. “Ah,3’es! quite oilier 
thoughts ! You have never cared for 
me ; and now 3^011 come all at once, 
and ask me to be your wife ! You 
need some one wdio will drive awav 
those thoughts; do 3^011 not, Ulrich? 
And for this, the flrst one at hand 
will do ; for this, I am good enough. 
But I am not deceived. If I loved 
3'ou more than all the world, and if it 
would cost me m3" life to let 3W go, 
— rather Lorenz, rather an3" other 
now^ than 3"ou ! ” 

It was an outbreak of fearful pas- 
sion in this usually quiet girl. In 
this storm wdiich had broken loose 
within her, Ulrich might have learned 
how strong a hold he had upon her 
heart : perhaps he did learn this ; but 
it did not remove the cloud from his 
forehead nor that flaming glow from 
his face, which grew deeper at every 
word. He had no repl3" to make ; and, 
as she now broke into a loud w^eeping, 
he stood b3" her dumb, without one 
consoling or pacif3dng word. Some 
minutes passed thus. Martha sat with 
arms folded over the table, and her 
head resting on them. No sound 
was heard, save her low, convulsive 
sobs, and the ticking of the clock on 
the w"all. At last Ulrich bent dow"n 
to her. His voice was no longer 
rough and passionate, but yet it w as 
riot mild. There lay in it only a hol- 
low tone of S3"mpath3’. 

“ Never mind, Martha ! I thought 
things would be better if you helped 
me : perhaps the3" w^ould only have 
been w"orse, and 3"ou are quite right 
•to venture nothing for my sake. Let 
all remain as it wms with us both.” 

He w^ent without further adieu ; but, 
at the threshold, he paused, and looked 
back at Martha. She did not raise her 
head, and he passed quickly out. 


“Well?” asked the overseer eag- 
erl3", coming to meet his son. ‘ ‘ Well ” 
he repeated more slowly, for Ulrich’s 
face did not look like that of a suc- 
cessful w^ooer. 

“It was of no use, father,” said 
Ulrich gloomil3’. “Martha w"ould 
not have me.” 

‘ ‘ Would not have 3’ou ? Not 3’ou ? ” 
cried the old man in a tone as if the 
most incredible thing in the world had 
just been told him. 

“ No ! And now don’t torment us 
with questions and speeches about it. 
She veiy w^ell knows wh3" she has 
refused me, and so do I : a third per- 
son need know nothing about it. 
And now let me go, father. I must 
go!” 

Hastily, as if he would shun all 
explanation, the 3’oung man w"alked 
aw"a3". * The overseer seized his pipe 
with both hands, and in his vexation 
was almost tempted to dash it on the 
floor. 

‘ ‘ It’s precious little one understands 
about these 3’oung women, ” he 
growled. “I thought the girl loved 
him, and now she sends him off 
wdth a No. And he — I reall3" did 
not think the lad w'ould lay it so to 
heart. He looked quite confounded, 
and w"as off like a madman. For 
m3^ life I cannot account for it, much 
as I know of him, and just as little 
of Martha.” 

The overseer began hastity to pace 
up and down the garden, until his 
anger gave place to a more resigned 
mood. What could he do about it? 
The two could not be forced to many ; 
and, if they w’ould not, it wms of no 
use to rack one’s brains over the ques- 
tion why the3" would not. With a 
deep sigh, the old man bade farew^ell 
to the darling plan of his life. 

While he yet stood in troubled 
thought by the garden-gate, he saw 
young Herr Berkow coming along 
the road wfliich led past his little 
house to the rear of the park. Arthur 
seemed better acquainted with the 
wa3^ than his wnfe had been. He 
took a key from his pocket, wLich 
fitted the lock Ulrich had forced open. 
The overseer bowed low and respect- 
full3", as the 3'oung heir passed ; but 


40 


GOOD LUCK. 


he, with his usual indifference, scarce 
gave b£tck a side glance, and with a 
haught}', careless nod, was passing 
on. The old man’s features quivered : 
he stood with cap in hand, and gazed 
after the future chief with a silent, 
mournful glance which seemed to say, 
‘ ‘ And even 3^ou have become so ! ” 

Whether Arthur remarked this 
glance, or whether it occurred to him 
now for the first time, that the old 
friend and companion of his child- 
hood 3^ears stood before him, he 
paused suddenl}’. 

“Ah, is it 3'ou, Hartmann? How 
do you do ? ” 

In his laz3", indifferent wa}^, he put 
forth his hand, and seemed somewhat 
surprised that it was not grasped at 
once ; but the overseer had not for 
3'ears indulged in such a familrarit^’ : 
he hesitated ; and, as he at lafet took 
the proffered hand, it was timidly and 
carefully, as if he feared that delicate 
white hand might suffer harm in his 
own hard fist. 

“I thank you, I am well, Herr 
Arthur — I beg 3 our pardon, I shoulel 
sa3^ Herr Berkow.” 

“Call me b3’' the old name,” said 
the 3’oung man kindl3\ “You are 
more accustomed to it, and I like it 
better than the other. Are 3'ou con- 
tent, Hartmann?” 

“Yes, thank God! Herr Arthur, 
I have wdiat I need. There must be 
a bit of care and anxiety in every 
house, and I am having some just 
now with m3’ children ; but that is 
neither here nor there.” 

The overseer, with surprise, saw 
that the 3’oung gentleman drew 
nearer, and rested both arms upon 
the wooden gate, as if he intended a 
longer conversation. 

“With 3’our children? I thought 
3’ou had but one, — a son.” 

“You are quite right, — m3" Ulrich ; 
but I have a sister’s child also in the 
house, — Martha Ewers.” 

‘ ‘ And does she cause 3’ou anxie- 
ty?” 

‘ ‘ God forbid I ” cried the overseer 
hastil3". “The girl is noble and 
good ; and I had thought she and 
Ulrich would marry, and ” — 

, “ And Ulrich will not ? ” interrupted 


Arthur with a quick, upward glance 
from his heavy’ e3’es. 

The old man shrugged his shoul- 
ders. “I do not knew w’hether .he 
really would not, or began his wooing 
in the wrong wa3’. Enough, all is 
over between them ; and this was my 
last hope, that he would many a sen- 
sible woman, who would set his head 
right.” 

It was strange- that the old miner’s 
simple and uninteresting famil3’ re- 
citals did not seem to w’eaiy the 
3’oung gentleman : he did not once 
3’awn as usual ; and his face showed' a 
sort of interest as he asked, ‘ ‘ Is his 
head not right now'?” 

The old man gave the questioner a 
timid side-glance ; then his e3'es fell 
to the ground. 

“ Herr Arthur,” he said, “ I am not 
the first to tell 3"ou of this. You 
must already have heard enough about 
Ulrich.” 

“Yes, I remember: my father 
spoke to me of him. Your son is not 
on good terms with the officers.” 

The father sighed. “I cannot 
change matters,” he said. “Ulrich 
obeys me no longer: in fact, he 
never has '0be3'ed me. He must 
alwa3"s have his own w'a3’, let who Avill 
oppose. I have allow’ed this lad to 
learn a great deal more than other 
lads of his station, perhaps more than 
w"as good for him. 1 thought he 
would rise the more rapidl3" ; and he 
is now master-miner and might be an 
overseer ; but all this trouble comes 
from his learning. He bothers his 
head about all sorts of histories, 
w'ants to know ever3" thing, sits the 
whole night at his books, and is all in 
all w'ith his comrades. How he got to 
be first ever3'W’here, I do not know ; 
but w’hen he was a little fellow he 
had the other lads all under his con- 
trol, and it is now worse than ever. 
What he says the3’ believe blindly : 
where he stands, they' all stand to- 
gether. If he should lead them into 
a living hell, they w'ould follow'. But • 
this is not as it should be, especially’ 
on the works.” 

“And wh3’ not?” asked Arthur, 
w'hile, as if in deep thought, he drew fig- 
ures with the key upon the w'oodeu gate. 


GOOD LUCK. 


41 


‘ ‘ Because the people here are too 
badly off alread}^,” burst out the 
overseer. “Do not be angry, Herr 
Arthur, because I say it to your face ; 
for it is even so. I cannot complain : 
I have always had more than my 
deserts, because your dead mothei* 
liked my wife ; but the others ! It 
is work and anxiety day in and day 
out, and then scarce the barest neces- 
saries for wife and child. It is, God 
knows, bitter bread and sour bread 
we earn ; but we must all work, and 
the most are heartil}^ glad to work, 
if they can have only their rights 
as upon the other mines. But here 
they are oppressed : every penny 
possible is taken from their scanty 
earnings ; and things are so bad in 
the mines, that every man, on going 
down, says his praj^ers, because he 
thinks he is likely never to come up 
again. But there is never any money* 
for repairs ; and, if any of the miners 
is in need and sickness, there is no 
money' to help him ; and still we 
must see how hundreds of thousands 
are sent away to the Residence, so 
that ” — 

The old man suddenly paused, and 
in mortal terror laid his hand upon 
his gossiping mouth. He had spoken 
in such excitement, that he had quite 
forgotten who stood before him. The 
deep flush which at these last words 
had passed over the 3'oung man’s face 
first recalled him to remembrance. 

“Well?” asked Arthur, as he be- 
came silent. “ Speak on, Hartmann : 
3"ou see that I listen.” 

“Heaven help me!” whispered 
'the old man in the greatest embarrass- 
ment. “I did not think — I had 
entirely forgotten ” — 

‘ ‘ Who had used up the hundred 
thousands? You need make no 
excuses : speak out freely whatever 
3'OU have to say. Or do 3*ou believe 
that I will betray you to my father ? ” 

“ Oh, no ! 3’ou certainly would not 
do that ! ” replied the overseer. “You 
are not like 3'our father. An indis- 
creet word to him would cost a man 
his place. Well, I was only going 
to say that all this causes bad blood 
among the workmen. Herr Arthur ” 
— with a timid, supplicating air, the 


old man drew a step nearer — “if 
3’ou would only concern 3’ourself 
about these matters. You are the 
son of the proprietor, and some da3^ 
will inherit all. No one can be so 
nearly" concerned as you.” 

“/?” asked Arthur with a bitter- 
ness, which happil3’ quite escaped his 
unsuspecting listener. ‘ ‘ I understand 
none of the wants and necessities of 
the w'orks : all this has been kept 
entirel3^ remote from me.” 

The old man shook his head sadly. 
“God knows there is not much to 
understand. For this, 3’ou need not 
stud3^ the machiner3" or the mines ; 
you need only to see and listen to 
the workmen, as 3’ou now listen to 
me ; but reall3^ no one does that. 
Whoever complains is sent away for 
‘ insubordination, ’ — so it is called ; 
and the poor miner, dismissed for 
this cause, finds another place onty 
with great difficult3". 

‘ ‘ Herr Arthur, I tell 3"OU there is bit- 
ter misery here ; and this it is which 
Ulrich cannot bear to see. It corrodes 
his heart ; and though I am all the 
time talking and preaching against his 
ideas, I know, that, in many respects, 
he is right. Things cannot go on in 
this W'ay ; but Ulrich’s plans for right- 
ing matters are godless and wicked ; 
the3’ will 3'et bring him and us all 
to ruin. Herr Arthur” — sorrowful 
tears stood in the old man’s 03^03, as 
he now unhesitatingl3' took the hand 
of the 3wng heir — “Herr Arthur, 
in God’s name I implore you, take 
this matter in hand. There is danger 
for 3’ou, for 3’our father, and for us 
all. There is, rebellion everywhere 
among the miners ; but if it once 
breaks loose here among us, then 
Heaven help us, for it will be terri- 
ble ! ” 

During this whole speech Arthur 
had stood silent, with a far-off, vacant 
gaze. Now he lifted his e3’es, and 
fixed them sadly on the speaker. “ I 
will mention this to my father,” he 
said slowl3’. “You may rely upon 
that, Hartmann.” 

The overseer let fall the hand he 
held, and started back. Now that 
he had laid bare his whole heart, he 
certainly expected some other result 


42 


GOOD LUCK. 


than this barren promise. Arthur, 
v^’ith a somewhat offended air, turned 
to go. 

“One thing more, Hartmann,” 
he said. “Your son saved mj life, 
and may well feel w'ounded in having 
received no word of thanks from me. 
I place little w'orth upon life, and 
possibly I may have undervalued the 
service rendered me ; but I should 
not have been guilty of such neglect 
if” — the young heir frowned, and his 
voice assumed a sharp tone — “if 
5'our Ulrich had not been just the 
man he is. I have no desire to have 
my acknowledgments repulsed, as m}^ 
late proffered reward was. But 3’et 
I w'ould not be deemed ungrateful. 
Sa}' to him that I allow j’ou to pre- 
sent him m3’ thanks : as for the rest, 
I will take counsel with m3’ father. 
Good-day ! ” 

He took the wa3' to the park. The 
overseer gazed mournfulty after him, 
and with a deep-drawn sigh said 
softty to himself, “ God grant his 
intercession with his father may help 
us ! but I do not believe it will.” 


VH. ' 

Up art the Berkow place the famity 
equipage was brought out of the 
coach-house, and the coachmen set 
about harnessing the horses. 

“This is something entirety new,” 
he said to the servant w’ho had 
brought the order to harness. “ The 
3’oung master and mistress going to 
drive out together? This da3" must 
be marked red in the calendar.” 

The servant laughed. “Yes, and 
little of a pleasure-drive it will be ; 
but it can’t be avoided. Return visits 
are to be made in town to those aris- 
tocratic people W’ho w’ere latety here 
to dine ; and it w’ouldn’t look w'ell for 
-the husband and w’ife each to go 
alone. They’d rather. I’ve no doubt.” 

“A curious couple,” said the 
coachman, shaking his head. “And 
the3^ call this being married ! God 
deliver everybod3" from such a mar- 
riage ! ” 

A quarter of an hour later the 


coach,' with Arthur Berkow and his 
wife*, rolled along the road leading to 
the town. The w’eather had been 
tolerable during the forenoon, but 
w’as now quite threatening. The sky 
was overcast, the wind, increased to 
a gale, drove the gray clouds before 
it, an-d-^veiy now and then a show’er 
fell upon the alread3’ rain-soaked 
earth. 

It had been an exceedingty rough, 
stornyy spring, — one of those springs 
to make city people shun a sojourn 
in the countr3’. Although Ma3' had 
come, the trees of the Berkow park 
W’ere bare and leafless ; the shaip 
w’inds and cold gusts of rain, to the 
despair of the gardener, had destro3’ed 
the flower3’ array he had so carefulty 
nursed on the terrace and in the gar- 
den-beds, and pitilessty rent out and 
killed every blossom that dared ex- 
pand in the open air. The bottomless 
roads, the rain-soaked forests, made 
eveiy carriage-drive as unpleasant as 
dangerous an undertaking. 

Da3’ after day of w’ind and rain, a 
gray, overcast sky’, mist-w’reathed hills 
and valley’s, and, worse than all these, 
a dreary’, comfortless household, w here 
no sunbeam penetrated the fog which 
closed thicker and thicker around, 
where every’ blossom that sought to 
open was frozen in that icy’ atmos- 
phere of contempt and hatred ; w’here 
a husband and wife regarded as a 
kind of torture, w^hich each would 
escape as soon as possible, that un- 
disturbed, dual life which new’ty-mar- 
ried people are wont to consider their 
highest happiness. All this might 
w^ell explain the deep pallor on the 
young w’ife’s face ; the expression of 
pain around the mouth, w’hich all her 
self-control could not efface ; the som- 
bre, melancholy glance w’ith which 
she surveyed the rainy landscape. 

She had imposed more upon her 
strength than it could bear. In that 
first transport of courage and filial 
love, the sacrifice had been cheerfulty 
made ; but it was the hours and day’s 
after the sacrifice, it vras this passive 
submission to the self-imposed destiny’, 
which demanded the real courage, the 
full strength of will ; and, much as 
Eugenie possessed of both, it was 


GOOD LUCK. 


43 


only too evident how painfully this 
“ afterward” oppressed her. 

Her husband, who reclined in the 
further corner of the coach, so far 
removed that the folds of her silk 
dress scarce touched his cloak, 
seemed none the more cheerfully to 
endure his destiny. His face had, 
indeed, always been as pale, his e3’es 
always as heavy, his manner alwa3's 
unsympathetic as now ; but there was 
in his features an expression Eugenie 
had never seen before, and whicli the 
last four weeks had engraven there, — 
a bitter, morose expression, which 
even that indilferent, blase air could 
not conceal. 

He gazed silentl3" out of the coach- 
window, and seemed as little inclined 
to converse as Eugenie herself. 
The3" had, upon taking their seats, 
met for the first time to-da3^, and had 
exchanged some commonplace remarks 
about the weather, the journey, and its 
object ; then an ic3^ silence had 
ensued, Tfhich seemed likely to con- 
tinue until their arrival in the town. 

The jaunt was pleasant in no 
respect. Though in this luxurious 
coach, the3^ felt nothing of the outside 
discomfort, 3*et these soft cushions 
could not wholly guard against the 
roughness of the road, over which, in 
spite of the powerful horses, they 
dragged along very slowly. They 
had gone nearly half the distance, 
and were in the middle of the forest, 
when a violent shock threw the car- 
riage almost on its side. The coach- 
man, with a half-muttered oath, reined 
in his horses ; then he and the footman 
stepped down fi-om the box ; and, from 
the excited conversation between 
them, it was evident that something 
was the matter. 

“What has happened?” asked 
Eugenie, excitedly springing from her 
seat. 

Arthur showed far less interest to 
know wdiat had happened : he would, 
from all appearances, have quietl3’ 
waited until tidings were brought 
him ; but now^ he felt in dut3^ bound 
to let down the window, and repeat 
his wufe’s question. 

“ Give 3’ourself no uneasiness, 
II err Berkow,” said the coachman, 


who, the reins in his hand, appealed 
at the wundow. “We came wuthin a 
hair’s breadth of being upset, but 
luckil3^ w'e have escaped. Something 
must be broken in the hind wEeel. 
Franz is looking to see wdiat it is.” 

The intelligence Franz brought was 
not very consoling. The wheel was 
so badl3" injured that it w'ould be 
impossible to go on. Both ‘servants 
in perplexit3^ looked at their master. 

“ I fear this accident will oblige us 
to give up our visits,” said Arthur 
indifferent I3" to his wife. “Franz 
will have to go to the house for 
another carriage ; and, when he re- 
turns, it will be too late.” 

“ Nothing then remains for us but 
to get out, and return to the house.” 

“ To get out?'’ asked Arthur in 
astonishment. “Do you reall3' in- 
tend to return on foot ? ” 

“ And do 3' on really intend to 
remain in this carriage until Franz 
brings us another ? ” 

Arthur certainl3^ had this intention : 
he thought it far better to lie two 
houi^ in the corner of the coach wiiere 
he would be shielded from wind and 
W' eather, than venture on a foot-tramp 
through the cold, w^et forest. Eugenie 
saw^ this, and smiled disdainfull3’. 
“ For m3" part,” she said, “ I will go 
back on foot rather than endure this 
tedious, aimless wmiting. Franz will 
accompany me, as he is obliged to 
go. You, I suppose, will remain 
in the coach? I would on no 
account take upon m3’self the respon- 
sibilit3^ of 3’our catching cold.” 

The unconcealed iron3" of these 
w'ords effected w'hat the accident could 
not have done : the3’ drove the 3'oung 
man from his corner. He rose erect, 
burst open the door, and the next ■ 
moment stood outside, offering his 
hand to assist his wife down the car- 
riage-steps. Eugenie hesitated. 

“ I implore 3’ou, Arthur ” — 

‘ ‘ I implore 3'ou at least not to make 
a spectacle to our servants b3’ choos- 
ing the compan3' of Franz in prefer- 
ence to mine. Shall I assist 3'OU 
down ? ” 

The 3’oung wife gave an almost im- 
perceptible shrug of the shoulders : 
still nothing remained to her but to. 


44 


GOOD LUCK. 


accept the proffered hand ; for the 
coachman and servant stood very 
near. She stepped from the coach ; 
and Arthur said to the attendants, — 

“ I will accompany her ladyship 
home. Take the coach to some place 
of shelter, and follow with the horses 
as quickly as possible.” 

The servants took off their hats, 
bowed, and then set about executing 
the command. With a somewhat 
repellent gesture, Eugenie refused her 
husband’s offered arm. 

“I fear we shall be obliged to 
forego the promenade step here,” she 
said. “ I can look out for myself.” 

She, in fact, tried this ; but it was 
only, at the very first step, to sink 
ankle-deep in the mud ; and when, in 
her fright, she fied to the side of the 
road, it was to sink deeper yet in the 
water. There she stood, undecided 
what to do. The road, seen from the 
coach, had not appeared half so bad as 
she found it. 

“We cannot get on here,” said 
Arthur, who had tried the same ex- 
periment with like results. “We 
must go through the wood.” 

Without knowing the way? We 
shall get lost.” 

“ Oh, no ! not at all. I remember 
a footpath I often trod when a boy : 
it leads over the hill down into the 
valle^^, and has the recommendation 
of very much shortening the route. 
We must seek it.” 

Eugenie still hesitated ; but the 
absolute impossibility of walking over 
the half-flooded highway, rendered 
still more impassable by carriage-ruts, 
left her, no choice. She followed her 
husband, who at onc^ turned to the 
left ; and, a few minutes later, the 
deep, dark green of the firs embraced 
them both. 

There was a possibility of passing 
over the roots and mosses of this 
forest floor, at least for unspoiled 
feet. For a gentleman and a lady, 
accustomed only to the parquet of the 
salon, for whose use, at every little 
jaunt, coaches and saddle-horses 
stood read}’, and whose only walks 
had been limited to a ramble through 
the park in fine weather, this route 
offered difficulties enough; and, be- 


sides, — this cloudy, stormy day. 
The rain had ceased ; but the whole 
region dripped with moisture, and the 
clouds threatened at any moment to 
send down a new shower. Over an 
hour’s distance from home, in the 
midst of the forest, through which 
they must wander at random like a 
pair of adventurers, without carriage 
or servant, without the slightest pro- 
tection against wind and rain, it was 
indeed a situation strange as desper- 
ate for Arthur Berkow and his high- 
born consort. 

The young woman, with her usual 
resolution, yielded to the inevitable. 
After the first ten steps she had seen 
the impossibility of rescuing her light 
silk dress and white burnous; and, 
quietly 3uelding both a prey to the wet 
moss and dripping trees, she marched 
courageously’ onward. But her toif 
let, little designed for an excursion 
like this, was slight protection from 
the weather ; shivering, she drew the 
white cashmere wrap about her, and 
shuddered involuntarily as the cold 
blasts swept past. 

Her husband remarked this, and 
paused. In his effeminacy, he had 
thrown a cloak around him for pro- 
tection, even , in the close carriage. 
Now he silently took off the cloak, 
to place it around his wife’s shoulders ; 
but, with a veiy decided gesture, she 
drew back. ^ 

I thank y’ou, I do not need it.” 

“But 3’ou are taking cold.” 

“ Oh, no ! not at all. I artf not so 
susceptible to the weather as you 
are.” 

Without a word Arthur took back 
the cloak : but he did not put it on 
again ; he threw it negligently over 
his arm, and, in his light, society- 
dress, walked by her side. Eugenie 
repressed her rising vexation : she 
scarce knew herself this conduct 
so wounded her; but she would far 
rather have seen Arthur carefully 
guard his precious health by’ envelop- 
ing himself in the cloak she had so 
disdainfully rejected, than thus reck- 
lessly expose himself to wind and 
weather. 

A calm, deliberat^^ submission to 
the inevitable w’as her business : she 


GOOD LUCK. 


45 


could not comprehend how her hus- 
band had assumed this right : and 
least of all could she comprehend 
how he, who had at first been horri- 
fied at the bare idea of this forest 
promenade, now seemed not at all to 
feel its inconveniences, while she 
already half repented her resolution. 

A gust of wind tore the hat from 
Arthur’s head, and blew it down a 
declivity from whose depths he could 
not recover it. Unmoved he gazed 
after the fugitive, and with an almost 
defiant gesture threw back his long, 
brown hair. Ilis feet, at everj^ step, 
sank deep in the wet moss ; and 3’et 
to Eugenie his step had never before 
seemed so firm and elastic. 

The farther he pressed into the 
green forest-recesses, the more his 
manner lost its wonted listlessness. 
His usualty drooping eyes glanced 
sharpl}^ around to find the path the}’ 
sought. The damp, gloom}’ forest 
really seemed to have an enlivening 
infiuence upon him, in such deep 
draughts did he inhale the strong, 
aromatic odor of the firs, so rapidl}" 
did he lead his young wife under their 
rustling tops,. Suddenly he paused, 
and cried out almost triumphantly, — 

‘ ‘ There is the path ! ” 

They saw before them a narrow 
foot-path, which led straight through 
the forest, seeming to lose itself in 
the distance. Eugenie gazed in sur- 
prise at her husband : she certainly 
had not believed that he would prove 
a safe guide, and had quite made up 
her rnmd that they should be lost in 
the wood. 

‘‘You seem well acquainted with 
this region, ” she said, as she trod 
the path by his side. 

Arthur smiled : but this smile was 
not for her ; it was for the surround- 
ings, which he now carefully scanned. 

“ I ought to know my woods,” he 
said. “We ai% old friends, though 
it is a long, long time since we have 
met.” 

Eugenie lifted her head in astonish- 
ment. This tone she had never heard 
from his lips : there lay within it, 
deep, repressed feeling, which, as it 
were, betrayed itself in his voice. 

“Do you love the forest so 


much?” she asked, involuntarily pro- 
longing a conversation which would 
otherwise have ended in the usual 
silence. “Why, then, during this 
whole four weeks, have you not 
entered it?” 

Arthur did not answer. He seemed 
to be dreaming, and his glance lost 
itself in the green, mist-veiled depths. 
“ Why?'’ he at length replied sul- 
lenly : “ I do not know. Perhaps I 
was too lazy.' One at length unlearns 
all in 3’our Residence, especially the 
longing for his woodland solitudes.” 

‘ ‘ In my Residence ? I thought 3’ou 
were the same as reared there.” 

‘ ‘ Certainly ! onl}’ with this differ- 
ence : my life ended when my so- 
called education began. All that had 
any value in life for me, I left behind 
me when I entered those walls ; for 
my earl}’, sunn}’ boyhood years were 
the only ones worth living.” 

It was a half-sad, half-resentful 
tone in which he uttered the words. 
But in Eugenie’s soul the old bitter- 
ness again welled up. How dared he 
speak of sacrifice and renunciation? 
What could he know of these ? For 
her, too, all happiness had ended 
with her childhood years ; for her, 
with her entrance into society, had 
begun that ascending scale of cares 
humiliations and despair, which to 
her, as the confidante of her father, the 
one initiated into all the family 
secrets, had been the bitter school, 
that, while it had steeled her charac- 
ter, had also robbed her of all the 
joys of youth. How different had 
been her husband’sposition, — his past 
life? And he spoke of these as of 
misfortunes ! 

Arthur seSned to read these 
thoughts in her face, as he turned to 
push aside a hanging bough, which 
would have brushed against her. 

“You think I, of all, have least 
reason to complain. Very likely. 
At least, I have always been told I 
have an enviable existence. But I 
assure you it is sometimes desperately 
barren and comfortless, — such a life, 
where Fortune showers all her gifts at 
your feet, and where you tread these 
gifts under your feet because you 
really do not know what else to do 


46 


GOOD LUCK. 


■with them ; so barren and comfortless 
that 3*ou sometimes feel as if, at any 
price, 3’ou would break away from 
this gilded happiness, even though 
it were to go out into storm and .tem- 
pest ! ” 

Eugenie’s dark e3'es hung in speech- 
less astonishment upon his face, and 
a sudden fieiy glow mounted to his 
forehead. The 3'oimg husband seemed 
all at once to realize that he had been 
guilty of the unpardonable crime of 
betra3ung emotion in the presence of 
his wife. He frowned, and threw a 
malicious • glance upon the forest, 
which had led him to .this outbreak of 
feeling ; but the ver3’- next second he 
fell quite back into the old blase man- 
ner. 

“We really have more of storm 
and tempest than is agreeable,” he 
said carelessl3’, turning his back to 
Eugenie as he strode onward. “ The 
winds rage fearfully on that bare hill 
up there. We must wait until the 
worst is over : we cannot go down 
now.” 

In fact, as the3'’ emerged from the 
wood, the storm met them ; and so 
terrible was its might, that they could 
scarce stand upon their feet. It was 
evidentl3^ impossible to go on in the 
path, which now led abruptl3" down 
into the open valle3^ : there was dan- 
ger of being seized b3^ the wind, and 
hurled into the depths below. So 
nothing remained but to wait here in 
the protection of the trees, until there 
should be a lull in the tempest. 

The3^ stood under a giant fir, which 
towered up at the forest’s edge. The 
storm shook those green arms the 
tree outspread to protect these two 
who had sought its shelter, and the3’ 
swa3^ed sighing up and down ; but the 
firm, gi’ay trunk still offered a sta3^ 
and a refuge for Eugenie, who leaned 
against it. In case of need, there 
might have been room for two per- 
sons : but the3^ would have • had to 
press close together ; and it was prob- 
ably this consideration which decided 
Arthur to remain standing some steps 
from her, although he was only par- 
tiall3’ shielded, ' and the swa3’ing 
branches rained down upon him abun- 
dant drops from the last shower. 


His hair fluttered in the wind, and the 
drops ran down from his uncovered 
forehead. Still he did not not make 
the slightest effort to change his 
place. 

‘ ‘ Will 3^ou — would 3^ou not rather 
come here?” asked Eugenie hesitat- 
ingl3" ; while she moved a little to one 
side to give him room upon the only 
dry place. 

‘ Thank 3'ou ! I would prefer not 
to annoy 3’ou b3’ my nearness.” 

“Well, at least, put on 3^our 
cloak.” 

This time there was a sound as of 
entreaty in her voice. “You will 
be quite wet through.” 

“ Never mind. I am not so sus- 
ceptible to the weather as 3’ou sup- 
pose.” 

The 3"oung woman bit her lips. It 
is not pleffsant to be repulsed with 
3'our own weapons ; but more than all 
else it angered her, — this contempt 
with which he let the vfhole fuiy of 
the storm break over him, just to give 
her a lesson. She reall3" thought this 
contempt indescribabl3^ ridiculous : she 
certainl3" could not suffer from it ; and 
it was a matter of indifference to her, 
whether he took cold and got sick or 
not ; but it enraged her to see him 
stand there so calml3’, and maintain 
his place in the midst of the storm, 
perhaps with difficult3", but still to 
maintain it, — he who half a;i hour ago, 
sleep3^ and shivering, had reclined 
amid the cushions of the luxurious 
coach, and seemed to recoil from 
ever3’ breath of air that ^oassed 
through the glass windows. Hid he 
reall3^ need storm and tempest to 
prove to her that he was not quite the 
weakling she had deemed him ? 

Arthur, meantime, did not look as 
if he cared to prove an3’ thing : he 
seemed to have quite- forgotten her 
presence. With folded arms, he 
stood there, and gazed up to the 
wooded mountains, the greater por- 
tion of which were visible from this 
I height. Slowly his e3’es swept from 
one summit to another ; and, as they 
did so, Eugenie made the sui-prisiug 
discover3" that her husband had very 
handsome e3’es. This was indeed a 
surprise^ for hitherto she had only 


GOOD LUCK. 


47 


known that there, under those half- 
closed lids, rested something indo- 
lent and sleep}’, and she had never 
taken the trouble to observe farther. 

If he chanced to look up, it had 
always been slowly, lazily, as if the 
glance cost him infinite trouble, and 
was not worth the trouble. And yet 
this glance was well worth seeing. 
Judging from the expression of the 
face, one would have supposed that 
under those sunken lids lay a dull, 
cold, blue eye ; but, in truth, there 
glowed an eye of a deep, dark brown, 
indolent and lifeless as yet ; still one 
knew that these eyes could flame up 
in energy and passion. It was as if 
a world, long-since sunken and for- 
gotten, lay imprisoned beneath this 
veiled glance, awaiting only its ap- 
pointed hour to again emerge from the 
abyss. 

Again in this young wife’s soul 
rose tremulously the consciousness 
she had already felt while in the 
forest, — the certainty that the father 
had sinned infinitely in the education 
of this son, — sinned past all atone- 
ment. 

They stood, both solitary, up there 
on the hill. A veil of mist lay over 
the forest, enveloping it in dense gray 
shadows, which now climbed up the 
dark firs, now in fluttering streamers 
waved from their tops, and now, 
ghostlike, flitted albng the ground. 
And the same cloudy veil swayed and 
fluttered around the mountains 3’on- 
der ; the mists now dissolving, now 
rolling , themselves together, afar up 
on th(^e dusk}’ summits and down in 
the steaming valleys. There was an 
. endless ebbing and flowing, a falling 
and rising : one moment it seemed as 
if mountain and forest would open 
to their lowest recesses ; the next, as 
if they w^ould veil their secrets from 
every mortal eye. 

. All around raged the storm, 
ploughing into these century-old firs 
as into a cornfield. Groaning, the 
giant-trunks swayed to and fro; 
sighing, their stately tops bowed and 
bent, while above them lay the gi-ay 
clouds in yawning, shapeless masses, 
or swept onward in wild, disorderly 
flio-ht. It was a storm such as has 1 


birth only in the bosom of the moun- 
tains ; and yet it was a spring storm, 
which raved and roared . around those 
far-off heights. 

Upon these blustering pinions, 
come the spring. Not sunny and 
smiling as down in the valleys, but 
rough, grim, and terrible. But it 
was still the spring’s breath which 
swayed the storm, the spring’s salu- 
tation which rang out above all this 
riot. 

In a spring storm, wild even as this, 
there lies a promise of sunny days to 
come, — of the flow’ers and perfume 
that will ere long gladden the earth ; 
a presage of that mighty, creative 
life already struggling to bring up its 
thousand germs to the light. And 
they hear the call, and answer it, — 
these roaring forests, these rushing 
brooks, these steaming valleys. In this 
roaring and foaming and raging, stiil 
rings out the triumph shout of Nature, 
who has now throvvn off the last 
fetters of winter, — her cry of joy 
that hails the approaching deliverer : 
‘‘ The spring is coming!"’ 

It' is something mysterious, such 
an hour of spring ; and the myths of 
the mountains lend it their own ro- 
mantic spell. ^ They tell of the 
mountain-spirit, who then strides on 
through his kingdom, and whose 
might in such an hour, blessing or 
cursing, passes into the life of the 
mortal who lingers in this kingdom. 
Whatever there unites, is united for- 
ever ; whatever there separates, is 
separated for all eternity. They 
needed no outward union, these two 
up on the hill yonder; they were 
united by the strongest bond that 
can make two mortals one ; and 
yet they stood so far apart ! They 
were as much strangers to each other 
as if a world lay between them. 

The silence "had endured a long 
time. Eugenie was the first to break 
it. 

‘ ‘ Arthur ! ” 

He started, as if from awakening, 
and turned to her. 

What is your wish?” 

It is so cold up here ! Will you 
not — lend me your cloak ? ” 

A flush passed over the young 


48 


GOOD LUCK. 


man’s face, as in speechless surprise 
he glanced up to her. He knew that 
this proud woman would rather have 
frozen in the icy blasts than thus 
condescend to ask for the covering she 
had scornfully rejected ; and yet she 
did so, in a hesitating tone, with down- 
cast e3’es, as if confessing a wrong. 

The next moment he was near her 
with the cloak. She stood silent, 
while he wrapped it around her shoul- 
ders ; but, as he was about to turn 
back to his place, she gave him a 
mute, reproachful glance. Arthur 
seemed to hesitate for a moment ; 
but, conscious that this glance had 
been almost the same as an entreat}', 
he conquered his obstinacy, and re- 
mained at her side. 

From the valley rose a dense, 
cloudy wall, shutting closely around 
these two, as if it would rivet them to 
this spot. Mountain and forest van- 
ished in the gray vapor ; biit the fir 
rose giant-like above it, and gazed 
down at these two mortals who had 
fled for protection to its arms. Over 
them swayed and rustled |the dark 
boughs with their thousand strange, 
mysterious voices, between which re- 
sounded the fuller accords of ^ the 
forest. It was fearfully oppressive ir^ 
this fog : this swaying and rustliiTg 
had an unearthly tone. Eug^hie 
started up suddenly, as if she must^ 
break loose from a danger whose 
meshes were tightening all around hei> 

“The fog keeps growing thicker,” 
she said, as if oppressed by its weighty 
‘ ‘ and the weather more uncomforta- 
ble. Do you believe that any danger 
is at hand ? ” 

Arthur glanced up at the swaying 
masses of vapor, and stroked the 
drops from his hair. 

“ 1 am not enough acquainted with 
our mountains to know how danger- 
ous these storms may be,” he said. 
“And even if there were danger, 
would you fear ? ” 

‘ ‘ I am not timid ; and yet one 
always fears when life is in peril.” 

‘ ‘ Ahoays ? I thought the life we 
had been leading for these four weeks 
was not of that sort to cause one to 
tremble when it was in danger, — 
least of all you ! ” 


The young wife cast down her eyes. 

“ So far as I am aware, I have not 
troubled you with any complaints,” 
she said softly. 

“ Oh, no ! You certainly give utter- 
ance to no complaints. If you could 
only as well keep back the pallor _ 
from your cheeks, as the complaints 
from your lips ! You would like to 
do so, but there your strength of will 
founders. Do you believe that it 
gives me such great pleasure to see 
my wife silently fading at my side 
because destiny has forced her' to this 
side?” 

Now it was Eugenie’s face that was 
covered with deep, glowing blushes : , 
but it was not the reproach in Jiis 
words which had sent this glow to 
her cheeks ; it was the strange worcl 
he for the first time had used 
speaking’ of her. “ il/y tcz/e,” he 
had said. Yes, she was indeed m^ir- " 
ried to him ; but it ha^ never yet 
occurred to^er tlntt he had the right 
to call hjer his wife. . " '' 

“Why. do you ag.^ •touch upon^^ 
this topic ? ” • she asked evasivefy . • ‘ I 
hoped, that, pvith that first necessary 
explanation, all was forever arranged 
between us.” ' # 

“ Because you seem to '(^efieh the' 
delusion that I will all your life keep 
you in these fetters, which'sui^ly are 
quite as. oppressive to me as they can 
possibly be to you.” 

His voice was icy-cold, and yet 
Eugenie glanced quickly up to him 
without being able to read the slight- 
est thing in his face. Why ^d he 
always veil those eyes when she 
strove to look into them ? W ould they 
not answer her ? or did they fear her ? 

“ You speak of a — separation ? ” 
“Do you think I could regard a 
lasting marriage between ns as pos- 
sible, after that expression of — high 
esteem^ which that first evening I 
was forced to hear from your lips ? ” 
Eugenie was silent. Over her 
head swayed and rustled still the 
green arms of the fir-tree ; the forest 
voices warningly and threateningly 
called down to this wedded pair about 
to utter the word of life-long separa- 
tion ; but neither would heed the 
warning. 


GOOD LUCK. 


49 


“We are not at liberty to waive 
all outward considerations,” contin- 
ued Arthur in the same tone : “ your 
father and mine are too well known 
in their circle, our marriage caused 
too great a sensation, to be dissolved 
at once, without giving the Residence 
inexhaustible material for gossip, of 
which we should be the ridiculous 
hero and heroine. People do not, 
without scandal, separate after a 
four and twenty hours’ inarriage ; 
neither after a week or a month. 
For the sake of the proprieties, they 
endure a year of each other’s society, 
and then, with some appearance of 
truth, declare that their characters 
are incompatible. I hope we, too, 
shall be able to live together that 
length of time ; but our strength for 
the task does not seem to be increas- 
ing. If things go on as they are, we 
shall both sink beneath it.” 

The arm which the young woman 
had twined around the trunk of the 
tree slightly trembled ; but her voice 
was veiy firm, as she replied, — 

‘ ‘ When I have once undertaken a 
task, I do not succumb so easily ; and 
as for 3*ou, I do not believe you have 
any special sensibilit3’ to the miseries 
of this life we live together.” 

His e3’es flashed. It was again 
that quick, lightning-like coruscation 
which came and went, leaving no 
trace behind. The e3^es were dead 
and expressionless as ever, when, 
after a brief pause, he answered, — 

“ ^u really do not believe that? 
Ah Well, my sensibilities have 
nothing to do with the matter. I 
should not have touched upon this 
subject, if I had not seen the neces- 
sity of giving 3’ou the satisfaction of 
knowing that our marriage will be 
dissolved as soon as, with a due re- 
gard to the world, will be possible. 
Perhaps I shall not now see 3^011 so 
pale as in these last da3^s ; and perhaps 
3'ou will now believe, what 3 011 have 
hitherto regarded as a falsehood, that 
I had no suspicion of those machina- 
tions which won for me by force a 
hand which I supposed freely given.” 

“I believe 3’ou, Arthur,” said she 
softly : “ now I believe 3"OU.” 

Arthur smiled ; but it was a smile 
4 


of infinite bitterness with which he 
received this first proof of the confi- 
dence of his wife, in the moment 
when he renounced her. 

“ The fog begins to clear,” he said ; 
“ and the storm, for a few minutes at 
least, seems to have subsided. We 
must hasten down into the valley. 
There we are sheltered, and can very 
soon reach the farm, where it is to be 
hoped we can procure a carriage. 
Will 3-ou follow me ? ” 

The path was steep and slipper3’^ ; 
but Arthur to-day seemed determined 
to belie his whole nature : he strode 
firmly and securely down the hill ; 
while Eugenie, in her thin shoes and 
long dress, and still more hindered in 
her motions by the cloak, made but 
slight progress. Arthui- saw that he 
must come to her help ; but a mere 
ofier of the arm would not answer. 
To reall3" aid her, he must carry her ; 
and this — would not do. 

This husband hesitated about offer- 
ing his wife an attention he would at 
once have offered to any' other lady ; 
and what any stranger, under the cir- 
ciunstances, would have accepted un- 
hesitatingly, this wife hesitated to 
accept from her husband. She trem- 
bled slightly, as, after a brief delay, 
he took her in his arms. 

Neither spoke a word during the 
ten minutes’ walk ; but Eugenie’s face 
grew paler at every step. It seemed 
as if she could not endure that this 
arm should be around her ; that she 
must lean against this shoulder, so 
near that his breath touched her ; and 
yet, as much as possible, he lightened 
the painfulnoss of the situation. Not 
a single glance did he give her : his 
whole attention seemed engrossed by 
the path ; and certainly great care 
and circumspection were demanded to 
avoid slipping down. But, in spite 
of all this repose, the 3’oung man’s 
lips again showed that treacherous 
quiver ; and as, when they arrived at 
the foot of the hill, with a deep breath 
of relief, he set down his unwilling 
burden, one could have plainly seen, 
that, during this strange descent, he 
had been any thing but calm. 

The farm-buildings already glim- 
mered through the trees ; and hastily, 


50 


GOOD LUCK. 


as if at any price they must cut 
short this time of being left to them- 
selves, both took the path thither. 
Above them still raged the spring 
storm ; and up on the hill the mists 
lay thick around the hr at the forest’s 
edge, the tree which had protecting!}' 
folded its arms around them in that 
hour, of which the old myth of the 
the mountain says, “ What here 
unites is united forever ; and whatso- 
ever here separates is separated for 
all eternity ! ” 


VIII. 

Herr Berkow, having anived while 
Arthur and his wife were in the forest, 
met them on their return. He seemed 
to have lost that exultant mood which 
he had brought with him on his 
former visit, when in his first flush of 
triumph over the new, aristocratic 
relationship. 

He was, as usual, exceedingly polite 
to his daughter-in-law, and bound- 
lessly indulgent to his son ; but his 
manner was hasty, restless, and ab- 
sent. This manner, although plainly 
visible that first evening, was still 
more noticeable the next morning, 
when Arthur entered his apartment, 
and requested an interview. 

“ At some other time, Arthur,” he 
said evasivel}’. ‘‘ Do not annoy me 
now with trifles, when my head is full 
of serious things. Money and busi- 
ness matters in the Residence are 
giving me endless trouble : all is loss 
and stagnation. But you understand 
nothing of this, and it cannot interest 
3"OU. I shall bring things back to 
the old routine, but I must beg you 
just now to spare me a recital of 
your private aftairs.” 

“ It is no private affair : the matter 
is of the deepest importance to you. 
I am sorry, that, when you are so 
overwhelmed with business, I really 
must claim an hour of your time ; 
but it cannot be otherwise.” 

“Well then, after dinner!” ex- 
claimed Berkow impatiently. “You 
can wait, and I have no time now. 
The oflScers already await me in the 


I conference-chamber ; and I have prom- 
1 ised the chief engineer to drive out 
with him after the conference.” 

‘ ‘ To drive out ? ” asked Arthur : 
‘ ‘ you will then inspect the mines ? ” 

“ No : I will inspect the alterations 
Tvhich have been made in the eleva- 
tors during my absence. What could 
I do in the mines ? ” 

“ I believed that you Trould some 
time personally convince 3’ourself if 
things are really as bad down there as 
they sa}’.” 

Berkow, who was just ready to go, 
turned suddenly, and gazed at his 
son in utter astonishment. “ What 
do you know about the mines ? Who 
has put this into your head? It 
seems that the director, finding I 
would not listen to his demand for 
money for repairs, turned to my son. 
He went to the right person trul}^ ! ” 
He laughed aloud, without noticing 
the expression of displeasure in Ar- 
thur’s face, as he returned sharply, — 
“But still an examination must 
be made, as to how far these repairs 
are necessary ; and if you would only 
go down with the engineer, you could 
give the shafts a passing inspection.” 

“ I shall be careful not to do that,” 
replied Berkow. “Do you think I 
want to risk my life? There is no 
doubt that things are dangerous in 
their present state.” 

‘ ‘ And still 3^ou send hundreds of 
workmen down daily ? ” 

The tone of the question was pe- 
culiar, — so peculiar that the father 
frowned. ♦ 

“ Would you give me a moral lec- 
ture, Arthur? I think this must 
sound rather strange from your 
mouth. You seem, in the dulness of 
your stay in the countiy, to have taken 
to philanthropy. Have done with 
that : in our circumstances it is a 
very expensive passion. I certainly 
shall take care, that, in case of accident, 
no loss may accrue to me, which 
would be very inconvenient just now. 
What is absolutely necessary will be 
done ; but I have no money for ex- 
tensive repairs. And, besides, I 
cannot allow the works to stop, even 
for the shortest time. To enable me 
to do this, you must want far less 


GOOD LUCK. 


51 


money than in those clays just before 
your marriage. I really cannot un- 
clerstand why you all at once begin 
to trouble 3’ourself about matters of 
W'hich 3’ou are entirely ignorant. 
Give your mind, rather, to the fur- 
nishing of 3’our parlors, to j’our winter 
soirees in tlie Residence, and leave to 
me the care and rcsponsibilit}’ in 
matters of which 3’ou do not know 
the slightest thing.” 

“ impa^ not the slightest !’* em- 
phasized the 3*oung man, with rising 
bitterness. “ For that, you certainl3' 
have cared.” 

‘ ‘ I reall3' believe 3’ou would re- 
proach me ! ” cried Berkow^ excitedty. 
‘‘ Have 3’OU not tasted all the joys of 
life? Have I shunned any sacrifice 
to secure 3'ou these in fullest measure ? 
Shall I not leave you riches? — I wiio 
began the world without a penn3\ 
Have I not, through this marriage to 
the Baroness iVindeg, gained 3'ou ad- 
mission to the circles of the nobilit3', 
to which 3’Ou will sooner or later 
belong ? I would like to see the fath- 
er wiio has done so much for his son 
as I ! ” 

During this whole speech, Arthur 
had gazed silently out of the w indow\ 
Now he turned to go. 

“You are quite right, papa,” he 
said ; “but I see that 3*011 have neither 
time nor patience to listen to what 1 
intended to sa3* to 3*ou. Let it be after 
dinner, then.” 

He w*ent ; and Berkow, shaking his 
head,^gazccl after him. His son of 
late had sometimes become quite in- 
comprehensible to him. But he had 
no time to think of this ; so he hast- 
ily closed his w*riting-de3k, took his 
hat, and passed over to the conference- 
chamber w'ith an air that foreboded 
no good to the w*aiting officers. 

Meantime, the miners had gathered 
at the shaft, ready to descend to the 
second stint for the da^’’. All were 
w*aiting for the overseer-in-chief, who 
had not as 3*et made his appearance. 
They were men of all ages, —men 
skilled in every sort of work that miners 
know- ; but most were grouped around 
Ulrich Hartmann, who, vvith his foot 
planted upon the ladder, and his arms 
folded, though he was for the moment 


silent, seemed undeniably the leader 
of all. 

He could not have been making a 
formal harangue ; for this, neither 
time nor place w*ere suited : but even 
in this short, chance interview, the 
speech seemed to be of matters w-hich 
now formed the principal topic among 
the w’orkmen. 

“ Give it up, Ulrich : they- w*ill not 
join us from the other w*orks,” said 
the 3’oung miner, Lorenz, w'ho stood 
near Hartmann. ‘ ‘ They- think it is too 
soon for them ; they- are not prepared : 
in short, they have no wash to join us, 
but will wait and see how* matters turn 
out.” 

Ulrich threw* back his head in scorn. 
“ Well, for all I care, w-e w-ill go on 
alone. We have no time to lose. ” 

There w*as a movement of surprise 
among the w*orkmen. “Alone?” 
asked some. “Without our com- 
rades ? ” added the others ; and the 
majority*, w*ith an anxious expression, 
repeated, Now? Right aw-ay* ? ” 

“ Nozv^ say- I ! ” cried Ulrich em- 
phatically- and imperiously, w-hile he 
threw a defiant glance around him. 
“ If any* of y*ou is of another opinion, 
say- so ! ” 

Not an inconsiderable portion of 
those present seemed to be of another 
opinion, still none ventured any* de- 
cided opposition ; but Lorenz said 
gravely, — 

“But y'ou vourself think it w*ould 
be better if all the works around us 
stopped at once.” 

“Is it my fault that they w*ait and 
w-ait, until our patience is at an end ? ” 
asked Ulrich hastily*. “ If they are 
determined to w'ait, Ave cannot: that 
they know right Avell. They want to 
send us on ahead into the fire, to see 
how the battle turns out with us. 
True comradeship that ! Well, Ave 
Avill fight it out without them.” 

‘ ‘ And do you really believe that he ” 
— Lorenz glanced in the direction 
of the chiefs house — “that he Avill 
yield ? ” 

“ He replied Ulrich decided- 

ly*, “ or he is ruined. Ea-cii now 
some of his speculations are turning 
out badly: besides, he must pay all 
his son’s debts ; and the iicaa* city resi 


52 


GOOD LUCK. 


dence will cost well on to the hundred 
tlioiisands. If the works should lie 
idle now, just now, when the large 
contracts are closed, then there would 
be an end to his magnificence. Two 
years ago, perhaps, he might have 
borne up through all : now he can- 
not. AVe shall ^in the day if we 
threaten him.” 

‘ ‘ God grant that we may reaU}" 
win the day ! ” sighed one of the mi- 
ners, an elderly man, with pale, 
shrunken face, and troubled air. 
“ But it would be dreadful if we took 
all this want and anxiety upon us for 
nothing ; and for weeks long starved 
with our wives and cliildren, only at 
last to have things remain as of 
old. If we should wait until our 
comrades ” — 

“Ah, yes, if we wait for the others,” 
here and there a voice ventured to 
suggest — 

“ Senseless babble, and no end ! ” 
broke out Ulrich wildly. “ I tell j^ou 
that now, right away, is the best time ; 
and we will go on. Will you go with 
me, or will 3ml not? Answer ! ” 

“ But do not be so hasty,” said 
Lorenz appeasingl}". “You know we 
all go with 3’ou, no matter how far it 
is : let them on the other works do as 
the3" will. We are united: no one 
will leave 3’ou in the decisive hour. ” 

“ I would advise no one to remain 
behind if things become serious,” 
said Ulrich, darting a morose, threat- , 
ening glance to that corner whence 
the opposition had come. “ Then 
we could endure no cowardice ; then 
each must stand b}* the other, and 
w oe to him who does it not ! ” 

The 3’oung leader, in this despotic 
manner, seemed to possess the most 
effective w^eapon with his comrades, 
to stifle every rising germ of contra- 
diction. His few opposers, without 
exception elderly men, were silent ; 
while the others, especiall3" the younger, 
with loud cheers pressed around Hart- 
mann, who more calmh* added, — 

“ But now there is no time to dis- 
cuss matters. This evening we 
will ” — 

‘ ‘ The overseer ! ” interrupted sev- 
eral voices, while all eyes turned to 
the door. 


“ Disperse ! ” commanded Ulrich ; 
and, obedient to the order, the crowed 
dispersed. Each took his miner’s 
lamp, which he had just laid aside. 

The chief overseer, w^ho rather un- 
expectedlj" entered, must have seen 
the hastil3'-di&persing throng ; per- 
haps he had heard the command, for 
he gazed searchingl3’ around. 

“You seem to hold 3^our comrades 
under excellent control, Hartmann,” 
he said cooll3\ 

“ Rather so, Herr Overseer-in- 
chief,” replied Ulrich in the same 
tone. 

To the chief overseer, as w^ell as to 
the other officers, the plots of the 
workmen were no longer a secret ; but 
he pretended to have seen and heard 
nothing, and continued indifferentl}*, — 

“ Herr Berkow is coming with the 
engineer to inspect the elevator. You 
and Lorenz are to remain at the foot- 
wa3’-shaft until the gentlemen again 
emerge to the light of da}’. Steiger 
Wilm can attend to }’our men imtil 
the}’ return.” 

Ulrich gave a silent acquiescence to 
the order, and remained back with 
Lorenz ; w’hile the others, under the 
lead of the chief overseer, w’ent down. 
But, as the last of his comrades van- 
ished, the young miner turned resent- 
fully away. 

“ Cowards they are, the whole of 
them ! ” he muttered fiercely, “ who 
cannot stir from their place hy reason 
of their iiresolution and timidity. 
They know, as w’ell as I, that we ought 
to avail ourselves of this very’ hour ; 
and yet they wrill not go forw’ard 
because they are alone, — because the 
others W’ill not stand by them. It 
is a lucky thing that we have Berkow 
against us, and no other. If he w ere 
a politic man, who at the right time 
showed us his teeth, and at the right 
time gave us good words, w’e could 
bring nothing to pass.” 

“ Do you think he will do nothing, 
then?” asked Lorenz somewhat dis- 
trustfully. 

“No: he is cowardly like all ty- 
rants. He swaggers and threatens 
W’hile he has the upper hand ; but, if 
his skin or his gold sacks w’ere in 
danger, he would crawl on his hands 


GOOD 

and knees. He has made himself so 
thoroughly detested, he has so goaded 
the miners to extremities, that at last 
not one will remain behind. Then it 
will be well ; then we shall have him 
in our hands.” 

“And the 3^oung gentleman? Do 
3"ou think he will take no part when 
the riot breaks loose ? ” 

An expression of undisguised con- 
tempt pla^^ed around Ulrich’s mouth, 
as he scornfully replied, “ He counts 
for nothing. At the very first alarm, 
he will run back to the city for safet3\ 
If we had to do with him, it would be 
sooner over. He sa^'s jes to all, if 
one threatens not to let him sleep on. 
The father will give us more to do.” 

“ He will inspect the elevator,” said 
Lorenz thoughtfully. “ Will he also 
go into the mines ? ” 

Ulrich laughed bitterly. “ What 
are 3’ou thinking of? We must dailj^ 
risk our lives down there : it is well 
enough for us, but the chief remains 
in the footway-shaft. I wish I could 
have him once alone with me, e3'e to 
eye : he should teach me that trem- 
bling we must so often go through 
with below.” 

The 3'oung man’s glance and tone 
were so wild, so filled with the deepest 
hatred, that his far more moderate 
companion was driven to silence ; and 
for a time the conversation ended. 
There w'as a long pause. Hartmann 
had stepped to a window, and was 
gazing out impatientl}", when all at 
once he felt a hand on his shoulder, 
and Lorenz stood at his side. 

“ I wish to ask j^ou something, 
Ulrich,” he began hesitatingly. 
“You will tell me, if I beg j’ou to. 
How do 3"ou stand with Martha ? ” 
Some moments passed before Ul- 
rich answered. “I with Martha? 
Must you know that ? ” 

The 3'oung miner cast down his 
e^^es. “You know, that, long as I 
have followed the girl, she has never 
liked me, because she — liked another. 
— 'Well, I cannot really blame her 
for it” — his glance with a sort of 
painful admiration, rested upon his 
friend — “And if it is really true 
that 3^ou stand in my way, then I 
must drive the thing from my head. 


LUCK. 53 

But tell me frankl3’, are 3’ou lov- 
ers ? ” 

“No, Carl,” replied Ulrich sul- 
lenl3^ : “we are not lovers, and never 
shall be. That we both know. I do 
not stand in 3'our way with the girl ; 
and I believe she will many you if 
3’ou ask her.” 

A gleam of 303^ passed over the 
young man’s face, as he asked quick- 
I3', “ Do 3’ou really mean it? If 3’ou 
say it, it must be so ; and I will tiy 
my luck that way this veiy evening.” 

Ulrich frowned. “This evening? 
Do 3"ou think it of no consequence 
that we are to have a consultation 
to-night, and that 3'ou belong with 
us, and not with the craft of wooers? 
But 3'ou are not a whit better than 
the others. Now that we are about 
to go into the fight, 3'our head is full 
of 3'our love-affairs : when ever3’ man 
should be glad he has neither wife 
nor child, 3^ou think of manying ! I 
am out of patience with you all ! ” 

“But I must ask Martha,” de- 
clared Lorenz apologeticall3^ ; “and, 
if she really says 3’es, it will still be a 
long while before our marriage. Hart- 
mann, 3’ou do not know how it is with 
one who loves that he cannot pos- 
sess, — how it wrings his heart day 
by day to see another with his chosen 
one, — another, who has onl3" to reach 
forth his hand after that for which he 
would give his life, and 3’et cannot 
grasp. You” — 

“ Stop, Carl ! ” interrupted Ulrich, 
with trembling lips, while he let his 
clinched hand fall so violently that it 
threatened the wood-work of the win- 
dow. “Go to Martha; marry her 
if you will ; but speak to me no more 
of such things. I will not, I cannot 
hear it ! ” 

The 3’oung miner gazed in astonish- 
ment at his friend : he could not un- 
derstand this agitation, — this wild 
renunciation, — as he must have given 
up the girl of his own free will. But 
there was no time to ponder over the 
matter ; for, at this moment, Berkow’s 
sharp voice was heard outside. In a 
most ungracious voice he said to the 
ofiicers who accompanied him, — 

‘ ‘ I beg most emphaticalU, gentle- 
men, to hear no more of this. The 


51 


GOOD LUCK. 


old ventilators have done service for 
a long time, and no accident has 
happened : they must still answer. 
I will have nothing to do w'ith these 
costly repairs yon are pleased to de- 
clare necessaiy because the}^ do not 
come oat of your pockets. Do you 
think I wish to found h;3re a model 
philanthropic institution ? The work- 
ing capabilities must be increased, 
and the sum required for that will be 
granted, — nothing more. If the miners 
are in danger, 1 cannot help it : they 
earn their bread in this wm}’. I can- 
not throw away money to secure a 
few miners and upstarts from acci- 
dent that may possibly happen to 
them, but which, up to this time, has 
not happened. The repairs in the 
mines wall be limited to things abso- 
lutel}’ needed to increase their capabil- 
ities ; and this I tell 3'ou once for all.” 

He flung open the door of the shed, 
and seemed unpleasant!}" surprised to 
find the two miners, whom he had 
not supposed to be here, and who 
must have heard his last words. Still 
more unpleasant seemed their pres- 
ence to the chief engineer. 

“ Hartmann, what are you doing 
up here?” he asked roughly as he 
entered. 

‘ ‘ The chief overseer told us we 
must accompany the gentlemen into 
the foot-way shaft,” answered Ulrich, 
without turning his glowing eyes from 
Berkow. 

The chief engineer shrugged his 
shoulders, and turned to Berkow with 
an air which plainly said, “He might 
have chosen another for this service.” 
But he made no remark. 

“ Very well ! ” said Berkow curtly. 
“Go ahead, and w'e wall follow. 

‘ Gluck auf! ’ ” 

Both miners obeyed ; but, when 
out of sight of the gentlemen, Lorenz 
paused for a moment. 

“ Ulrich ! ” 

“ What do you wish?” 

‘ ‘ Did you hear ? 

‘ ‘ That he cannot throw away a few 
thousands to secure the lives of his 
miners ; but that the working capa- 
city of the mines shall be increased 
by hundreds of thousands? Well, 
no one is safe here in these depths. 


and he goes cl^wm to-day. We will 
wait and see whose turn comes flrst ! 
Go on, Carl ! ” 

It seemed as if, with the storm of 
the day before, the long-awaited 
spring had won by force her kingdom. 
There had been a magic change in 
the weather during the night. Fog 
and clouds had vanished, leaving no 
trace, and with them w"ind and cold. 
The hills, now clearly visible, w'ere 
flooded with sunshine, and around 
them floated the breath of the warm, 
delicious air. One could at last in- 
dulge a hope that the incessant rain 
and tempest of the last few weeks 
was over, and would be followed by 
a long, bright spring and golden sum- 
mer. 

Eugenie had stepped to the bal- 
cony, and was gazing out into the 
now, at last, unveiled landscape. 
Her eyes thoughtfully and dreamily 
rested upon the hills yonder. Per- 
haps she thought of that dark hour 
yesterday upon the height ; perhaps 
there yet toned in her ears the rust- 
ling and sighing of the green fir- 
boughs-; but the remembrance was 
quickly and forcibly broken by the 
sound of a post-horn very near. Im- 
mediately after, an extra post-chaise 
halted below" the terrace ; and with a 
cry of joy and surprise the young 
w"oman flew from the balcony. 

“ My father ! ” 

It was indeed Baron Windeg w"ho 
quickly stepped from the coach, and 
entered the house. His daughter was 
already upon the steps to receive him. 
It w"as their first meeting since her 
marriage ; and in spite of the presence 
of the two servants, w"ho came rush- 
ing in to receive the distinguished 
guest, the father clasped his child in 
his arms just as passionately as on 
the evening of her w"edding-day, when, 
in her riding-dress, she had bidden 
him adieu. The young woman at 
length gently loosed herself from his 
embrace, and withdrew w"ith him into 
her favorite apartment, the little blue 
salon. 

“What a surprise, papa!” said 
Eugenie, still beaming w"ith joy and 
excitement. “ I had no presentiment 
of this visit from you.” 


GOOD LUCK. 


55 


The baron, his arm still around 
her, sat down with her on the sofa. 

“ It w^as not contemplated, m3' 
child. A journe}' led me into this 
region ; and I could and w^ould not 
shun the circuitous route of a few 
hours, which w'ould bring me to you.” 

‘‘A journey?” Eugenie gazed 
questioningly into her father’s face; 
and his eyes rested searchingly upon 
her features, as if he would there 
read the history of the weeks since 
she left him : but now, as her glance 
fell upon the hat he still held in his 
left hand, she turned pale with terror. 

“ For Ood’s sake, papa, what 
means this mourning band? — My 
brothers ? ” 

“ Are well, and send 3'ou hearty 
greeting,” said the Baron consolingly. 
“ Do not be alarmed, m3" child ! For 
those you love, 3’ou need not tremble. 
A melanchol3' event has happened, — 
one which nearh" concerns our famih" ; 
and 3"et I ma3" w'ell say that we can 
none of us lay it to heart. Soon I 
will tell 3'ou all. But now 3'ou must 
relate to me ” — 

“No, no!” interrupted Eugenie 
impatientl3" : “ I must first know what 
this crape means. Whom have we 
to mourn ? ” 

, Windeg set the hat wdth its mourn- 
ing band to one side, and folded his 
arms close around his daughter : there 
was something painful, convulsive, in 
the tenderness with which he pressed 
her to his heart. 

“ I am on a journey to pay the last 
honors to our cousin Rabenau. His 
estates lie in this province.” 

Eugenie started. “ Count Rabe- 
nau ? The heir ? ” — 

“Is dead,” added the baron em- 
phatically. “In the fulness of life 
and of health, a few' weeks before his 
intended marriage, — certainly no one 
could have foreseen this.” 

Eugenie had become deathl3" white : 
the tidings did not touch her heart, 
and 3'et she w'as fearfulh" excited. 
She said not a w'ord, but her father 
seemed to comprehend her emotion. 

“You know we w"ere for a long 
time esiianged,” he continued sadl3". 
“ I could not tolerate Rabenau’s 
rough, wild ■wa3’S ; and I shall never 


forget the cruel repulsion I was forced 
to receive from him six months ago. 
He could have rescued us, had^he 
w"ished : dt w'ould have been an easy 
thing for him ; but he roughly and 
harshly repelled me. Now he is dead, 
— dead without beirs ; I succeed to the 
property now when it is too late, — 
noww'hen I have sacrificed 1113" child.” 

There lay a convulsive sorrow in 
these w'ords. Eugenie strove to con- 
trol her feelings, and in a few minutes 
she succeeded. 

“ O papa, you need not think of 
me I I — I breathe lighth" at the 
thought that 3'ou will have so abun- 
dant a recompense for the humilia- 
tions 3'ou have suffered ; but the sud- 
denness, the unexpectedness, of this 
news overcame me. We could never 
have hoped for the heirship.” 

“ Never ! ” said the baron mourn- 
fully. “ Rabenau was 3'oung and 
healthy : he was about to marry. 
Who could have dreamed that he 
would be stricken down by a three- 
da3's’ illness? But if his death was 
decreed, W'h3', W'h3', could it not have 
happened sooner? Four w'eeks ago, 
it would have helped us : a fourth 
part of the wealth now flow'ing in 
upon me would have saved us. I 
could have given back his money to 
that villain wdio plunged us into 
misfortune, — his money which he de- 
manded, with a hundred-fold usury, 
and have needed not that m3' 01113^ 
daughter should be its price. I ac- 
cepted 3"our sacrifice, Eugenie, God 
knows, not of m3^ own free will : it 
W'as for mV name, for the future of 
my sons. But that this w'hole bitter 
sacrifice should have been made in 
vain, w'hen a chance delay of a few 
short weeks might have spared it to 
me, — this mocker3' of fate I cannot 
bear ! ” 

•He clasped passionate^ her hand 
in his ; but this 3’oung w'oman had 
already won back all her pride, all 
her self-control. Fearfull3" as this 
‘ ‘ too late ” might have moved her, 
one saw" no further trace of suffering. 

“ You should not speak so, papa ! ” 
she returned firmty. “ It w'ould have 
been a wrong to 3'our other children. 
This death, which, knowing what 


56 


GOOD LUCK. 


Count Kabenau was, we can mourn 
onl3" formall}", frees 3*011 from man3^ 
burdens. M3" marriage averted onl3* 
the most threatening : there still re- 
mained enough which pressed heavil3’ 
upon us, which later might perhaps 
have brought 3*011 into humiliating de- 
pendence upon that man. This dan- 
ger is now forever averted. You can 
repay all 3*ou have received from him. 
We owe him nothing more.” 

“ But he owes you to us ! ” inter- 
rupted Windeg bitterly ; “ and he will 
guard against ever paying this debt. 
That is wh3* this rescue galls me : a 
short time ago I should have greeted 
it with transport ; now it drives me 
to despair on 3*our account.” 

Eugenie turned and bent low over 
the flowers that sent up their perfume 
from a vase near her. 

‘ ‘ I am perhaps not so unhapp3* as 
3*011 and my brothers believe,” she 
said softl3*. 

“ Are 3*011 not? ' Do 3*ou think 
3*our letters have deceived me ? I 
knew beforehand that 3*ou would spare 
us ; but, if a doubt had remained to 
me, 3*our paleness speaks plainl3* 
enough. You are unhapp3", Eugenie, 
3*011 must be unhappy hy the side of 
this man, who ” — 

“ Papa, you speak of my hus- 
band ! ” The 3*oiing wife, as she 
littered these words, started up so 
hastil3", so passion atel3*, that her 
father recoiled, and gazed at her in 
surprise, as much astonished at her 
manner as at the deep scarlet glow 
which covered her face. 

“ Pardon me ! ” he said. “ I can 
never accustom m3"self to the thought 
that my daughter belongs to Arthur 
Berkow, and that I am in his house 
which I am forced to enter when I 
would see my child. You are right. 
I must spare your feelings, when I 
speak of the man to wdiom you ai’e 
married, even though I see plainl3" 
enough how much you have suffered 
through him and still suffer.” 

The deep flush had slow*ly died out 
from Eugenie’s face ; but a' treacher- 
ous glow still remained, as she an- 
swered, — 

“ You err : I have no complaint to 
make of Arthur. He has, from the 


first, maintained a distance for which 
1 can but thank him.” 

The baron’s e3*es flashed. ‘‘ I w*ould 
not advise him or his father to forget 
the respect the3" ow*e you, — to fail in 
appreciating the honor 3*011 have 
brought to their house, w"here hitherto 
much honor has not been found. But, 
Eugenie, I can at least offer 3*ou one 
consolation. You will not long bear 
the name to w hich attaches so much 
vulgarit3", so much villain3" against us 
and others. None the less villain3* 
because the law* cannot punish it. I 
have taken care that this plebeian title 
shall not much longer annoy 3’ou.” 

Eugenie looked at her father in sur- 
prise. “ What do 3*ou mean b3" these 
w*ords? ” she asked. 

“I have entered upon the neces- 
sar3" steps for 3*0111’ ” — the baron had 
to make a pow*erful effort at self- 
mastery before he could utter that 
word — 3*our husband’s elevation to 
the nobility. Only his elevation, not 
his father’s : Berkow, I w’ould not 
recognize, even formalty, as belong- 
ing to our rank. A change of name 
veiy often accompanies such a dig- 
nity*, and it w*ill in this case. You 
can choose among 3’our estates, what- 
ever name seems to 3*011 most fitting 
for the new, noble race.” 

“For the new, noble race!” re- 
peated Eugenie in a hollow* voice. 
“ Build no hopes upon that papa ; and 
if 3*ou w*ish this title of nobility on 
my account, 3*011 err — still 3*ou are 
right, and in any event it is best. 
The title of nobility* will ampty com- 
pensate Arthur for all he must re- 
nounce.” 

There was an expression of over- 
powering bitterness in these w*ords ; 
and yet, through all this bitterness, 
pulsated a half-repressed sorrow ; for 
Windeg, one w*as as incomprehensi- 
ble as the other. His daughter’s 
w’ords remained enigmatical to him : 
he w*as just about asking an explana- 
tion, w*hen a servant announced the 
young Herr Berkow, who had come to 
greet the baron. 

Arthur entered, and approached 
his father-in-law w*ith some polite 
commonplaces in regard to this agree- 
able but unexpected visit ; and then 


GOOD LUCK. 


57 


lie relapsed into his usual languor and 
indifference. It was evident enough 
that he only sought to perform that 
imperative duty of politeness which 
hade him welcome his father-in-law. 
The baron seemed to quite ignore the 
necessity of this welcome. As now 
no strangers w^ere present, the for- 
mality of shaking hands was omit- 
ted, and gave place to a cold bow on 
either side. The older gentleman 
then sat down by his daughter ; and 
the younger remained standing by his 
chair, with the evident intention of 
leaving as soon as possible. 

Windeg, perfect man of the world 
that he was, in spite of the exciting 
conversation he had just carried on 
with Eugenie, at once resumed his 
society manner. The usual questions 
and answers in regard to the various 
members of the family followed. 
The demise of Count Rabenau was an- 
nounced, and very formally deplored 
by Arthur, who certainly had no sus- 
picion of the change this demise had 
made in the circumstances of his new 
relatives. At length the baron 
passed to another theme. 

“ I bring other tidings from the 
Residence, which, for you, Herr 
Berkow, must be of the highest in- 
terest,” he said complacently. ‘‘ I 
may well assume that the wish of 
your father in regard to an elevation 
of rank has been no secret to you ; 
and I can assure you that its fulfil- 
ment is at hand. In one point of 
view there are certainly insuperable ob- 
stacles, — there are certain prejudices 
against the elder Herr Berkow, per- 
sonally, which can scarce be sur- 
mounted ; but the powers that be are 
quite ready to distinguish one of our 
first industrial proprietors by con- 
ferring a title upon his son. I hope 
ill a short time to be able to congrat- 
ulate you.” 

Arthur had listened without the 
least change of manner. Now he 
lifted his eyes ; and immediately Eu- 
genie’s glance, wdth an interest she 
herself could not define, was fixed 
upon those eyes. And yet in them, 
one could not read the slightest thing. 

‘‘ May I ask, Herr Baron, if, in 
this transaction, you have been gov- 


erned solely by the wishes of my 
father, or by consideration for your 
daughter ? ” 

Baron Windeg struggled with a 
slight embarrassment. He had cer- 
tainly reckoned upon thanks ; and, in- 
stead, came this strange question. 

‘ ‘ When this union had been once de- 
cided upon, your father’s wish and 
mine became the same,” he replied 
constrainedly. “But I did not at 
that time conceal from Herr Berkow 
my opinion concerning his personal 
claims to that dignity ; and I received 
from him the assurance, that, if neces- 
sity required, he would renounce the 
honor in favor of his son, to whom, 
by this step only, he could secure a 
brilliant future.” ^ 

“ Then I regret that my father did 
not inform me of the progi*ess of 
an affair which I regarded only as 
an undeveloped plan,” said Arthur 
coolly. “And I still more regret, 
Herr Baron, that you have used your 
influence to secure for me an honor 
which I must absolutel}^ decline.” 

The baron sprang from his seat, 
and gazed at his son-in-law with star- 
ing eyes. 

“Pardon me, Herr Berkow! I 
might not have heard distinctly. I 
thought you spoke of declining.” 

“Of declining the title if offered 
me, — ^yes, Herr Baron ! ” 

Windeg quite lost his self-posses- 
sion, a thing which very seldom hap- 
pened. “Well, then, I must entreat 
you to give me the reasons for this, 
to say the least, strange refusal. I 
have the greatest curiosity to know.” 

Arthur glanced over at his wife. 
She had started involuntarily at his 
words ; and a deep, hot flush again 
overspread her cheeks. Their eyes 
met, and for an instant rested on 
each other ; but the young man did 
not seem to imbibe much humility 
from this glance, for his voice had a 
decided dash of scorn as he replied, — 

“The strangeness lies less in my 
declining than in the manner of the 
offering. If a title of nobility had 
been decreed to my father on account 
of the service he has undeniably ren- 
dered to industry, as his heir I should, 
in any event, have accepted it. It is, 


58 


GOOD LUCK. 


like any other title, a distinction, and, 
as such, honorable. They have not 
thought best to confer it on him ; and 
I naturnlly am no judge of the pre- 
judices they may have against him. 
But, for my own part, I have not the 
slightest claim to such a dignit}" ; and 
I therefore deem it better not to let 
the Residence assert that an alliance 
with the Windeg family must, as a 
natural consequence, be followed by a 
diploma of nobility.” 

He had thrown out these last words 
very indifferently ; and ^^et Eugenie 
angrily compressed her lips : she 
knew that they were designed solel}’ 
for her. Would he really break free 
from all that could give her the right 
to despise him ? And now, more than 
ever, she felt the wish to despise him. 

‘ ‘ I seem to have erred in regard to 
the reasons which led you to desire 
this relationship,” said the Baron 
deliberate!}" : ‘ ‘ but I must confess 
that I consider these ideas of very re- 
cent date with you; for, before your 
marriage, your views were entirely 
dhferent.” 

‘ ‘ Before my marriage ! ” An end- 
lessly bitter smile played around 
Arthur’s lips. “Then I had not 
learned, Herr Baron, how your circle 
regarded myself and my relations to 
that circle. Since, in rather a merci- 
less w-ay, all this has been made clear 
to me ; and you cannot be surprised if 
I- decline henceforth and forever to be 
considered an unbidden intruder into 
that circle.” 

Eugenie’s fingers here clasped so 
tightly the rose she had taken from 
the vase, that the delicate flower suf- 
fered the same fate the fan had a little 
time before met in Arthur’s hands. It 
fell crushed upon the carpet. Arthur 
did not remark this. He had almost 
turned his back to her, and wms facing 
her father, who gazed at him with an 
expression which seemed to ask if this 
was really Arthur Berkow, Ms son-in- 
law. 

‘ ‘ I have no conceivable idea who 
has thus been exaggerating matters 
to you,” returned the baron gravely ; 
“but I must beg you to have some 
regard for Eugenie. In the role which 
you expect to jday next winter in the 


Residence, she cannot — pardon me, 
Herr Berkow — wear your plebeian 
name. That was neither your father’s 
intention nor my own.” 

Arthur fixed a long, lowering gaze 
upon his wife. Much as she was nat- 
urally inclined to assert her opinion 
and her will, she had taken no part in 
this conversation. 

‘ ‘ By winter circumstances may be 
entirely different from what we now 
dream. Leave that to Eugenie and 
me. For the present, nothing re- 
mains to be said, but that I persist 
in my refusal. As the honor was in- 
tended for me alone, I alone have the 
right to accept or to decline it ; and I* 
decline absolutely a distinction, which 

— pardon me, Herr Baron — I will 
not owe to the aristocratic name of 
my wife ! ” 

Windeg rose, deeply offended. 
“ Then nothing remains to me but to 
recall, hastily as possible, the steps 
already taken in this affair, so that I 
may become no more compromised 
then I am at present. Eugenie, you 
are absolutely silent. What have 
you to say in regard to the views you 
have just heard expressed by your 
husband ? ” 

Answer was to be spared the young 
wife ; for at this moment, the door 
oi^ened, — not gently as usual by a 
servant, — it was hastily flung open, 
and without announcement, with an 
ashy-white face, and an entire neg- 
lect of all those forms he was wont so 
punctiliously to observe, — in rushed 
Herr Wilberg. 

“Is Herr Berkow here? I beg 
your ladyship’s pardon, — I must this 
moment speak with Herr Berkow ! ” 

“ What has happened? ” asked Ar- 
thur, advancing to meet the young 
man, whose agitated face betrayed 
him a messenger of ill. 

“An accident!” gasped Wilberg 
breathlessly. ‘ ‘ Down in the footway- 
shaft. Your father is badly injured 

— very badly — the director sent 
me ! ” — 

He had time to say no more ; for 
, Arthur had already hurried past him, 
and was outside the door. The young 
officer was about to follow, when the ba- 
ron detained him in the outer corridor. 


GOOD LUCK. 


69 


“ Have 5’ou told the son the whole 
truth?” he asked gravely. “With 
me you need conceal nothing. Is 
Herr Berkow dead ? ” 

“ Yes,” broke forth Wilberg. “ He 
was coming up with the Steiger Hart- 
mann : the rope broke. Hartmann 
saved himself by a spring upon the 
last platform but one. Herr Berkow 
fell to the bottom. No one knows 
how the accident happened, but it 
can no longer be kept secret. In- 
form her ladyship, Herr Baron. I 
must go ! ” 

He hastened after Arthur; while 
AYindeg turned back to the parlor, 
where, in breathless excitement, Eu- 
genie met him. 

“What have yo'd learned, papa? 
Wilberg’s face spoke of more than a 
mere injury. What has happened?” 

“The worst!” replied the baron, 
trembling. “We have just been bit- 
terly arraigning this man, Eugenie. 
Now there is an end of hatred and 
hostility between us and him. Death 
has cancelled all.” 


IX. 

The first week with its melancholy 
rites w^as over ; but that undefined op- 
pression which lies upon every house 
of mourning had not lifted : it seemed 
only the more heav}^ now that the 
excitement of the funeral arrange- 
ments was over. 

There had been no lack in manifes- 
tations of outward S3’mpathy. Ber- 
kow’s position, his extensive acquaint- 
ance and connection with various cir- 
cles, had made his death a notable 
event. The funeral cortege, w^hich 
naturall}” had included the officers and 
the whole bod^" of miners, had seemed 
interminable. Visiting-cards and let- 
ters of conclolence in countless num- 
ber covered the 3’oung heir’s wwiting- 
table, while his wife received calls 
from all the family acquaintances far 
and near. Thej^ w^ere shown every 
possible attention, — more than Ber- 
kow in his lifetime could ever have 
dreamed of. In their case, to use 
Baron Windeg’s diplomatic phrase, 


people had no ‘ ‘ prejudices ” to over- 
come. 

But this loss touched no living heart, 
— seemingly not even that of the dead 
man’s only child, for whom he had 
done so much. It is difficult to love 
one for wffiom we feel no respect. None 
could tell, however, wffiether Arthur 
Berkow had been deepl}" or only su- 
perficially moved by his father’s 
death. His entire composure seemed 
to indicate the latter ; and 3"et since 
this catastrophe he had been terribly 
in earnest, and inaccessible to all save 
those with whom he had the most ur- 
4gent business. 

None who knew the immediate cir- 
cumstances could w^onder at Eu- 
genie’s entire composure. With her, 
as wxll as with her father, hatred had 
ceased at Berkow’s death : they had^ 
never pretended to any other senti- 
ment ; and this stand had unfortu- 
nately been taken by many, for there 
w^as only too much reason for it. 

The officers had often been galled, 
by the brutal, haughty treatment ofu 
this parvenu, w'ho regarded their a 
knowledge and capabilities only as a 
sort of merchandise wffiich stood at 
his absolute disposal when he had paid 
its price, — too often to mourn a chief, 
who had showm no respect for ability 
or character, but 01113^ for the capaci- 
ty of stud3dng his advantage, and 
doing the most to advance his inter- 
ests. 

Still worse had he been with the 
w orkmen. Tow^ard them he had show'u 
an utter want of feeling, without one 
impulse of compassion, one spark of 
S3nnpath3^ 

But, as w'e have before said, Berkow 
was an industrial genius of the first 
rank. He had raised himself from 
povert3’ and obscurit3’' to w^ealth and 
infiuence. He had called into life 
business activities wdiich could rank 
among the first in the land : he had 
won a place in wdiich he might have 
been a blessing to thousands. 

He had not become this ; he had not 
willed to become it : and so his mem- 
or3' must be given over to that execra- 
tion w’hich found vent in the deep sigh 
of relief which at his sudden death 
passed over all his estates, thi’ough all 


GO 


GOOD LUCK. 


his works, — in that unspoken, and 
yet deeply-felt, “ God be thanked ! ” 

Whether the heirship to such a life, 
— to all it had sowed during these ten 
years past, was realh" so enviable a 
thing as outward appearances w'ould 
indicate, might well be doubtful. In 
an}’ event, this heirship rolled a bur- 
den of responsibility upon the shoul- 
ders of the young heir, to which, 
according to general opinion, he was 
quite unequal. 

He had, it is true, officers of all 
grades, deputies, and attorneys, ready 
to his call ; but the father had been 
accustomed to keep all these in de- 
pendence on himself, to subject them 
to his absolute control : now the 
hand and eye of the master were 
■wanting, the master * himself was 
wanting. 

The son must take the reins into 
his own hand ; and while attempting 
to do this he must encounter the 
judgment, or rather the prejudice, of his 
dependents, — not audible, but he saw 
in their manner, in many an express- 
ive shrug of the shoulder, that they 
did not at all count upon him. 

In the conference-chamber the as- 
sembled officers were awaiting the 
chief, who had summoned them for 
this hour ; but their perplexed, anxious, 
and agitated faces showed that the 
matter in hand was something more 
than a formal greeting and introduc- 
tion, now that the first days of mourn- 
ing were over. 

“ This is a blow,” said the direc- 
tor to Herr Schaffer, — ‘ ‘ the worst that 
could befall us. We knew long ago 
what the men were planning and plot- 
ting among themselves : it is just the 
same all over the neighboijing works. 
We saw it coming; we tobk precau- 
tions against it ; but that it should be 
now, at this very moment ! That 
leaves us quite at their mercy.” 

“Hartmann has well chosen his 
time,” said the chief engineer bitter- 
ly. “He very w'ell knows what he 
can do, even if he goes on without 
aid from the other works. Our chief 
dead, all the business in disorder, the 
young heir incapable of any energetic 
measures, — now he comes with his 
demands ! I have always told you 


this Hartmann was a thorn in on/ 
fiesh. The workmen are naturally 
honest and good. We cannot blame 
them for demanding security for their 
lives in the mines, and wages that will 
keep them and theirs from starvation. 
They have long enough borne up 
under wrong and oppression ; but 
they should have made sensible de- 
mands, such as we could grant. What 
they dictate under this leader is past 
belief ; it is the same as an open in- 
surrection.” 

‘ ‘ But what will the young chief 
do ? ” asked Wilberg in a half-whis- 
per. Among these peiplexed and 
anxious ones, he was the most per- 
plexed and anxious of all. 

“What he must do under the mo- 
mentary circumstances,” returned 
Herr Schaffer gravely: “grant their 
demands.” 

“Begging your pardon, he cannot 
do that ! ” exclaimed the chief engi- 
neer. “ That would subvert all disci- 
pline, and in a year and a day make 
him a ruined man. I, at least, shall 
not remain upon the works when this 
happens.” 

Schaffer shrugged his shoulders. 

‘ ‘ And still he has scarce any other 
alternative. I have already told you 
that things with us are by no means 
so prosperous as they seem. We have 
latterly had losses, very serious losses ; 
we shall be obliged to cover deficits 
on all sides ; to make sacrifices ; and 
then there are so many other obliga- 
tions — enough, for present returns, 
we are solely dependent upon the 
works. Let them lie some months 
idle, and we could not fulfil our con- 
tracts for this year ; and that would 
be our ruin.” 

“ The miners must know how mat- 
ters stand,” said the chief engineer 
sullenly, “ or they would not dare go 
on in this way ; and we are very well 
aware that concessions'’ once made 
cannot be recalled. Hartmann will 
use every effort to carry through his 
plans ; and when under the compel- 
ling force of circumstances he has 
gained his point — What did Herr 
Arthur say when you informed him of 
the state of affairs ? ” 

It was strange that none of theoffi- 


GOOD LUCK. 


61 


cers ever said, “Herr Berkow ” or I 
“our chief.” It seemed impossible 
to connect the young man’s personal- 
ity with this title. They always spoke 
of him as ■ “ Herr Arthur ” or “ the 
young gentleman . ” At this last ques- 
tion all eyes turned to Schaffer. 

‘ ‘ He said nothing,” replied Schaffer ; 
“ ‘ I thank 3*011, Schaffer : ’ that was all. 
He onl3* took the papers I had carried 
with me for his better information, 
and shut himself up with them. Since 
then I have not met him.” 

‘ ‘ I spoke with him last evening, 
when I laid before him the demands 
of our miners,” said the director. ‘ ‘ He 
grew pale as death at the evil tidings ; 
then he listened dumbly, not return- 
ing even a syllable. When I at 
length ventured upon some words of 
advice and comfort, thinking this 
would surely lead to a conversation 
between us, he dismissed me, sa3*ing 
he w*ould prefer to consider the matter 
alone. Just imagine Herr Arthur 
considering any thing ! This morning 
I received the order to summon you 
all to a conference.” 

The old sarcastic expression again 
pla3^ed around Schaffer’s mouth. “I 
fear I can tell 3’ou beforehand the re- 
sult of this conference : ‘ Grant all, 
gentlemen ; 3deld unreservedly ; do 
what 3*ou will : onl3’ secure to me the 
present activity of the works ! ’ And 
then he will announce to you that he 
and his lady are about to return to 
the Residence, leaving things here to 
go on as Heaven and Hartmann 
please.” 

“ But blow on blow falls upon him 
now,” interposed Wilberg, who chiv- 
alrousl}^ took the part of the absent. 
“Here even a stronger man might 
be overpowered.” 

“ Yes, it is natural 3*ou should s3Tn- 
pathize with the weak,” said the chief 
engineer derisively. “ But of late 
you have shown decided S 3 *mpathy for 
the opposite. Herr Hartmann has 
been enjoying 3*our most especial 
friendship. Are you still an enthusi- 
astic admirer of his ? ” 

“For God’s sake, no!” cried 
Wilberg with a horrified expression. 
“ I shudder at the sight of that man, 
now, since the death of Herr Berkow.” 


“So do I!” said the chief engi- 
neer emphatically ; “ and I believe w*e 
all do. It is terrible, that w'e must 
just now deal with him ; but truly 
where there are no proofs we do best 
to keep silent.” 

“ Do 3*ou really believe in the pos- 
sibility of a crime ? ” asked Schaffer, 
lowering his voice. “The inquest 
has onl}^ established the fact that the 
rope was broken. It might have be- 
come broken of itself; w*hether this 
was realty the case, Hartmann alone 
knows. As I said, the inquest brought 
nothing to light ; and in any other 
companionship, there would have been 
no suspicion. He is capable of an3^ 
thing.” 

“ But then reflect, he too was in the 
same danger of losing his life. The 
spring with which he rescued himself 
w*as a desperate venture, which one 
man in ten would not have dared, and 
in which the tenth would not have suc- 
ceeded. He must have expected to 
also fall back and be dashed in pieces.” 

The chief engineer shook his head. 
“You little know Ulrich Hartmann 
if you believe he w*ould for a moment 
hesitate to risk his life, if he under- 
took an}* thing w*hereby that life was in 
peril. You were present when he 
flung himself before those horses. At 
that time, the whim seized him to 
save life ; but if he wishes to destro}*, 
it matters little to him if his own de- 
struction threatens. That is just the 
dangerous thing about this man : he 
has no regard either for himself or 
others ; in a case of necessit}^, he 
would sacrifice himself, if” — 

He paused suddenly ; for at this 
moment the 3'oung chief entered. 
Arthur was much changed. The 
deep-mourning suit made his alwa3*s 
pale face seem paler, and his forehead 
and eyes indicated that for these last 
nights he had not known sleep ; still 
he calmly returned the greeting of 
the officers, and came into their 
midst. 

“ I had 3*011 summoned, gentlemen, 
to take counsel with 3*ou in business 
matters, which since my father’s 
death have fallen into my hands. 
There is much to adjust and to change, 
— more, perhaps, than we at fii’st sup- 


62 


GOOD LUCK. 


posed. I have, as yon know, hith- 
erto stood remote from business cir- 
cles, and shall not at once see my 
way clearly; although in these last 
days I have sought to do so. I 
reckon therefore, in the fullest meas- 
ure, upon 3’our good-will and your 
readiness to sustain me. I shall be 
obliged to la}^ much claim to both, and 
beforehand assure you of my thanks.” 

The gentlemen bowed, and surprise 
was plainly written upon all faces. 
The engineer threw a glance over to 
the director, which seemed to say, 
“ So far, that was very sensible.” 

“All other concern^,” continued 
Arthur, ‘ ‘ must recede before the 
momentary calamit3", the danger with 
which the demands of the miners, and 
cessation of their work in case of 
refusal, threaten us. There can be 
thought or mention here of but one 
decision.” 

This time it was Herr Schaffer 
who glanced at the engineer, as if 
to sa}^, “I told 3’ou..so! He fields 
unreservedly. Now he is going to 
announce to us his departure.” 

But the 3’oung chief seemed in no 
baste about this : he said, on the con- 
trar3", “Before all things, we must 
inform ourselves how the men are 
organized, and who leads them.” 

There was a momentar3^ silence. 
Each officer hesitated to utter a name 
which had such fatal connection with 
the late accident; but at last the 
chief engineer said, — 

“ Hartmann leads them ; and there 
is no doubt that the organization is 
well led, and perfect in all respects.” 

Arthur glanced thoughtfull3^ before 
him. “ That I also fear ; and then 
there will be a fight, for there can 
naturally be no talk of granting these 
demands in full.” 

“ Naturally there can be no talk 
of it,” repeated the engineer tri- 
umphantly, and thereb3^ gave the 
signal for an exceedingly animated 
debate, in which he stoutly maintained 
his former views. Herr Schaffer, who 
took the opposite side no less val- 
iantly, exerted himself by all sorts 
of hints and intimations, which the 
young chief only too well understood, 
to make clear to him the necessity of 


submission. The director took neu- 
tral ground. He advised waiting 
and diplomacy. The other officers 
let their superiors speak for them, 
only now and then venturing some 
unimportant remark or modest opin- 
ion. 

Arthur heard all silentl3’ and atten- 
tivel3’^, without taking one side or 
the other. But as Schiiffer closed a 
long argument with an emphatic ‘ ‘ We 
must,’* Arthur suddenl3^ lifted his 
head, and spoke with such decision 
as to silence all other opinions. 

“We must not, Herr Schaffer! 
There are other than mone3’ed consid- 
erations ; the first of all being that of 
my position among the miners, which 
would be forever insecure if I now 
3delded m3"self to their merc3\ Little 
as I understand such things, I see that 
these demands go beyond the bounds 
of possibilit3" ; and 3"OU must all agree 
with me in this. There may be 
wrongs and inconveniences ; the 
workmen may have reason for com- 
plaint ” — 

“ Ah, that the3"have ! ” interrupted 
the chief engineer ver3^ decidedl3’. 

‘ ‘ They are right in demanding exami- 
nations and repairs in ^he mines, and 
an increase of wages. The3" may also 
well speak of certain alleviations and 
of fewer working-hours. But all be- 
yond this is arrogant defiance, for 
which their leader, Ulrich Hartmann, 
alone is responsible. He is the lead- 
ing spirit of the revolt.” 

“Then we W'ill first hear him. I 
have already sent him word to meet 
us here, and bring some of his com- 
rades with him ; adding, that they 
should be received as ambassadors. 
The3^ have come alread3\ Will 3’ou 
call them, Herr Wilberg?” 

Herr Wilberg went on his errand ; 
but it was with open-mouthed wonder, 
and an air, which, in its expression of 
boundless admiration, seemed almost 
idiotic. Herr Schaffer elevated his 
eyebrows and looked at the director, 
who took a pinch of snuff and looked 
at the other gentlemen ; and then 
they all stared together at the young 
chief, who had all at once begun to 
make arrangements and issue com- 
mands in a manner which suited none 


GOOD LUCK. 


63 


of them bat the chief engineer. That 
gentleman had turned his back to his 
colleagues and placed himself at Ar- 
thur’s side, as if he now knew where 
he really belonged. 

Meantime Wilberg had returned, 
and close upon his footsteps followed 
Ulrich Hartmann, Lorenz, and another 
miner. But the two latter individuals, 
as if that were a matter of course, 
remained in the background, and let 
Hartmann advance alone. 

Gluck auf!” was his greeting, 
and “ Oliick auf!” also that of his 
two comrades ; but the tone of the 
old, jo3'Ous, miner’s salutation seemed 
here to belie its meaning. In Ulrich’s 
manner there had always been some- 
thing lordly and defiant ; but it had 
never seemed so arrogant, so really 
insulting, as to-day, when he for the 
first time met the chief and his officers ; 
no more as an underling to receive 
directions and commands, but as an 
ambassador, who would not lay his de- 
mands before them, — no, who w'ould 
dictate to them. This was, indeed, no 
vulgar pride wdiich spoke from his 
bearing, but rather a scornful insolence 
rooted in the consciousness of his own 
strength and others’ weakness. He 
let his sullen blue e^'Cs slowly sweep 
the entire circle until at last the}' 
rested upon the young chief ; and his 
lips curled disdainfully while he 
silently awaited Arthur’s words. 

Arthur, during the conference just 
ended, had not sat down : he now 
remained standing, and gravely faced 
the man, who, as they told him on all 
sides, was the prime mover in the 
threatened outbreak. Of that far 
heavier crime, that participation in 
his father’s death, of which many 
accused him, the son happily had 
no suspicion ; for with the utmost 
calmness he entered upon the business 
in hand. 

“ Steiger Hartmann, you, yesterday 
through the Herr Director, laid before 
me the demands of the miners upon 
my works ; and in case of their not 
being granted, you threaten a general 
cessation from work.” 

“That is so, Herr Berkow ! ” was 
ihe short, decided, ringing answer. 

Ai’thur rested Ms hand upon the 


table ; but his tone was cool, busi- 
ness-like ; he betrayed not the slight- 
est emotion. 

“ Above all things, I want to know 
what you really intend by these pro- 
ceedings. This is no demand : it is 
a declaration of war. Even you 
must say to yourself that I cannot 
grant such things, and will not grant 
them.” 

“Whether you can grant them, I 
do not know, Herr Berkow,” said 
Ulrich coolly ; ‘ ‘ but I believe you 
will grant them, for we are deter- 
mined to let the works lie idle until 
you yield to pur demands : substitutes 
you will not find in the whole prov- 
ince.” 

This argument was so conclusive 
that not much could be said against 
it ; but the tone in which it was ad- 
vanced was so disdainful that Arthur’s 
brow grew dark. 

“It is by no means my intention 
to refuse all your demcinds,” he de- 
clared firmly. ‘ ‘ There are among 
them some whose justice I recognize, 
and to which I will also yield. The 
examination and repairs of the mines, 
for which you ask, shalbbe granted ; 
the wages will, at least partially, be 
raised. To do this I shall be obliged 
to make heavy sacrifices, more per- 
haps than in a business point of 
view are justifiable at present ; but 
it shall be done. But you must relin- 
quish the other points, whose sole and 
only aim is to take the management 
out of the hands of my officers, to 
relax the discipline, which in an enter- 
prise like this is a question of life or 
death.” 

The disdainful curl vanished from 
Ulrich’s lips, and gave place to a look 
of suiprise and suspicion. First he 
glanced at the officers, then at the 
young chief, as if to inquire whether 
he had not learned all this by heart, 
whether he was not repeating some 
lesson they had stored in his memory. 

“ I am sorry to tell you, Herr Ber- 
kow, that these points will not be 
abandoned,” he said defiantly. 

‘ ‘ I really believe that these minor 
points are the main thing with you,” 
replied Arthur, gazing steadily at 
Ulrich; “but I repeat to you, they 


64 


GOOD LUCK. 


must be abandoned. In my conces- 
sions, 1 will go to the utmost limits 
of possibility ; but there I stand, 
and take no step be3’ond. What I 
concede shall and must content every 
one who seeks honorable, remunera- 
tive work. Whoever it does not 
content seeks something different ; 
and with him no concord can be 
hoped for. I give you my word of 
honor, that every thing necessary for 
the safety of the workmen in the 
mines, for the raising of their wages, 
shall be done ; and now^, on m3’ side, 
I demand from you confidence in my 
word. But before we speak of this 
matter, 3’ou must renounce the second 
part of 3’our demands. Their fulfil- 
ment is impossible ; and I enter 
into no agreement on that score.” 

He still retained the calm business 
tone ; but his speech was too widely 
different from the usual tone and 
manner of the 3’oung heir not to have 
astonished Ulrich. He could not be- 
lieve his own ears ; but, the more 
unexpectedl3’ this opposition came 
from a quarter where he had con- 
fidentl3^ reckoned upon a timid, cow’- 
ardly 3'ielding, which should be but a 
prelude to unconditional surrender, — 
so much the more did this opposition 
enrage him ; and his untamable nature 
only too soon burst these unwonted 
barriers. 

‘ ‘ But 3’ou shall not refuse in this 
way, Herr Berkow,” said he threaten- 
ingly. “ There are two thousand of 
us, and the works are just as good as 
in our hands. The time is past when 
we allow ourselves to be enslaved and 
trod upon just as it pleases 3’ou. We 
now demand our rights ; and if we 
cannot win them b3’ fair means, Tve 
will take them by force.” 

A half-angr3', half-anxious move- 
ment passed through the circle of 
officers. The3’ saw that a scene was 
at hand, which, from the well-known 
ungovernable temper of Ulrich, might 
end in violence. Arthur’s face had 
become deep-red ; he advanced some 
steps forward, and stood right before 
Ulrich. 

“Before all things, change the 
tone, Hartmann, in which 3’ou speak 
to 3’our chief ! K 3’ou would be re- 


ceived here as ambassador, and as 
such w’ould claim a sort of equalit3’’, 
then behave as is customary in such 
transactions, and do not hurl 3’our 
threats of force and insurrection into 
one’s face. You demand discipline 
from 3’our men ; and I demand it from 
you. Play’ the master outside with 
your comrades, if so it pleases 3’ou. 
While I stand before you, I am mas- 
ter of these works, and intend to 
remain so. Rely’ upon that ! ” 

Had a stroke of lightning de- 
scended into that conference-chamber, 
it could have produced no greater 
effect than these w’ords, hurled forth 
with the fullest energy, and with im- 
perious pride. The officers at first 
drew back, and then made a move- 
ment as if to protect the young 
chief by’ forming a circle around him ; 
but he w’aved them back with a silent 
gesture of the hand. 

Both miners gazed upon him as if 
spell-bound ; but this sudden outburst 
struck none so fearfully as Ulrich. 
He had become white as a corpse. 
He stood there, leaning far forward, 
with trembling lips, and wide-open, 
staring ey’es, as if he could and 
w’ould not comprehend w’hat he saw 
and heard. Then all at once his 
fatal error seemed to become clear to 
him, — his error in regard to this 
man, w’hom a fcAV days before he 
had passed with a disdainful shrug of 
the shoulders, W’hom he had reckoned 
of no account ; and now he gazed 
abashed into his face. Like an en- 
raged lion, he was about to spring 
forward ; but a glance, — a clear, firm, 
calm glance met his, and awed and 
restrained him. 

Arthur had stood immovable ; but 
he had opened his eyes wide and full, 
and with these ey’es he had imperi- 
ously kept that outbreaking savagery 
within its bounds. For a few seconds 
the two men gazed at each other ; 
then all was decided between them. 
Slowly Ulrich’s clinched hand re- 
laxed ; slowly the savage fury died 
out of his features ; and his glance 
sank to the floor. He had in the 
young chief recognized an equal, per- 
haps a superior, and bow’ed to him. 

Arthur stepped back. His Aoice 


GOOD LUCK. 


65 


again rang cold and calm as he con- 
tinued, And now inform your com- 
rades what I can grant to them, and 
what I cannot. Add also that I 
will not take back a word I have 
said. With this, for the present, we 
are at an end.” 

“ We are so ! ” Ulrich’s voice 
sounded hollow, almost stifled, from 
inward passion. “And I declare to 
3"Ou, in the name of all the associated 
miners upon 3’our works, that from 
to-morrow these works will lie idle.” 

“It is well : I was prepared for 
this ; and now I warn you once again, 
Hartmann, from all extreme steps. 
They say you have unlimited control 
over your comrades ; so take care 
that quiet and order are maintained, 
and do not hope to intimidate me by 
tumultuous scenes. I and my officers 
will do our utmost to avoid all con- 
flict ; but still, if j'ou force it upon 
us, we must take sides against 3’ou, 
and I shall use my authority to the 
utmost. Spare me and yourself 
this. ” 

Ulrich turned to go ; but in his 
parting glance, hatred and fury blent 
with something other and deeper, of 
which no one dreamed. What passed 
convulsively through the breast of 
this wild, passionate man, none but 
himself could know. He had so long 
despised this weakling, and triumphed 
in the thought that he also must be 
despised in another heart T If he 
there showed himself as here, then 
the despising was at an end. Those 
great brown e^^es that had conquered 
him could well conquer something 
else than hatred and aversion. The 
livid pallor which had passed over 
the .young miner’s face since that 
revelation became still deepef as he 
withdrew. 

“We will see who holds out the 
longest. Gluck auf! ” 

He went, accompanied by both his 
comrades ; but the men’s faces showed 
that the scene just ended had im- 
pressed them quite differently than it 
had their leader. It was a half-shy, 
half-deferential glance they threw 
back upon the young chief ; and there 
lay something hesitating, uncertain, 
in their manner as they left his presence. 

5 


Arthur had, meantime, searchingly 
glanced after them, and now turned 
to the officers. “There are two al- 
ready" who follow him with only half 
a heart. I hope the majority will 
come to their senses, if we give them 
time ; for now, gentlemen, we must 
jield to necessity", and let the works 
lie idle. I in no way ignore "the dan- 
ger which threatens us here in the 
withdrawal of two thousand excited 
men with, a leader like Hartmann at 
their head ; but I am resolved to 
maintain my stand, and not to 3"ield 
until all is decided. It naturally de- 
pends upon your own free will whether 
you follow me here. As you were 
nearly all against my decision, I of 
course shall not force its results 
upon 3"ou, and willingly give leave of 
absence to any of 3’ou who may 
deem a temporary withdrawal from 
the w"orks necessar3\ ” 

One general indignant negative 
answ"ered this proposal. The w"hole 
corps of officers, with an almost pas- 
sionate eagerness, pressed around 
their 3’oung chief to assure him that 
not one of them would move from 
his place. Even the timid Herr Wil- 
berg seemed all at once to have 
gained a lion’s courage, so energeti- 
cally did he join in this assurance. 

“I thank 3’ou, gentlemen,” said 
Arthur, after a deep sigh of relief. 

‘ ‘ In the afternoon we will talk over 
matters, and decide upon the meas- 
ures to be taken. For the present, I 
must leave 3"ou. Herr Schaffer, an 
hour from now I will await 3 0U in my 
cabinet. Once again, my thanks to 
you all.” 

When he had gone, and the door 
closed behind him, there broke loose 
all those emotions of astonishment, 
of approbation, and of anxiety, w"hich 
his presence had hitherto restrained. 

“ I tremble in all my limbs, ” said 
Herr Wilberg, while, without heeding 
the presence of his superiors, he 
threw himself down upon a chair : the 
scene just passed had made him for- 
getful 'of all regard to etiquette. 
“God in heaven, what a scene! I 
thought that wild man, that Hart- 
mann, would rush upon him ; but that 
glance, that way of speaking 1 Who 


66 


GOOD LUCK. 


\vould have thought this in our 
chief? ” 

“He was too defiant, much too 
defiant,” criticised Schilfier ; but even 
in this criticism, and in his thoughtful 
shake of the head, lay an expre^ion 
quite other from that with which he 
had before spoken of Arthur. “ He 
talked as if he still had millions at his 
control, and as if the going on of the 
w’orks were not a question of life for 
him. His father, in spite of his 
haughtiness, would here have yielded 
unconditionally; for in a business 
point of view it would have been his 
onty resource, and he knew no regard 
to his position and dignity. The son 
appears differently constituted ; but 
this language, which would have been 
in place a year ago, is not so now. 
He should have been more circum- 
spect, less decided in his expressions ; 
so that the possibility of a retreat 
might have been open to him in case 
that”— 

“Away with yoitr considerations 
and scruples ! ” interrupted the chief 
engineer hastilj’. “ Pardon me, Herr 
Schiifier, if I speak rudely ; but any 
one can see that j^our capabilities lie 
in office-work, that you have never 
guided masses of laboring-men. He 
has hit upon just the right thing : he 
has impressed them ; and in such cases 
that is all. A friendty, persuasive 
talk would have passed with them for 
weakness, an aristocratic repose for 
haughtiness. We must speak to 
these men their own language of 
Either or Or, and our chief perfect^ 
understands this. You saw its effect 
upon Hartmann.” 

‘ ‘ My greatest fear is that Berkow 
does not fully estimate the conflict 
before us,” said the director gravely. 
“Left to themselves, our miners would 
be content with his concessions : with 
this leader at their head, nothing will 
content them. He will admit no 
equal, and they follow him blindl}’. 
But our chief is right. He has gone 
to the farthest limits of possibility. 
To go farther would be to surrender 
himself, his position, and us alL ” 

They now all spoke of “ the chief,” 
“ the master,” as a matter of course. 
In a single hoiu' Arthur had won that, 


title : no other designation seemed 
now to exist for him. He must in- 
deed have shown himself master. 

The three “ ambassadors” had left 
the house, and were walking over to 
the works. Ulrich spoke not a word, 
but Lorenz said half aloud, — 

“ You said lately, that if a man at 
the right time showed us his teeth, and 
at the right time gave us good words, 
then — Listen, Ulrich ! I believe the 
man over there understands this.” 

Ulrich did not answer. He threw 
a glance up to the window, and over his 
forehead brooded an ominous cloud. 

‘ ‘ And all this lay concealed behind 
those eyes that looked so heavy and 
dozy, as if they were good for nothing 
in the world but to sleep,” he muttered 
between his set teeth. “ ‘ So long as 
I stand here, I am master of these 
works ! ’ said he ; and I really believe 
he is the man to keep his word.” 

They now met a group of miners, 
Ulrich’s own men, Avho sm:rounded the 
ambassadors with stormj^ questions. 

“Let Ulrich tell you. all,” said 
Lorenz dryly. “I believe we have 
the wrong one to deal with there. 
He doesn’t think of ^fielding.” 

“ Don’t think of 3ielding ! ’’.echoed 
the miners, all evidentl}’ disappointed. 
The3r had reckoned upon quite an- 
other decision. There were many 
angry exclamations, many muttered 
threats of vengeance against the 
3^oung chief, whose name was on all 
sides spoken with open contempt. 

‘ ‘ Silence ! ” cried Ulrich imperi- 
ously. “You do not know him as we 
have just seen him. I believed we 
should have an easy game now that 
the father is out of the way. In the 
son we have all erred. He has one 
trait that never belongs to weaklings, 
— a will. I tell ^'ou he is going to 
give us plentj^ of trouble.” 


X. 

It was early in the forenoon. Moun- 
tain and forest glowed in the sunlight, 
and exhaled the dewy freshness of the 
spring morning, when Eugenie Ber- 
kow, without any attendant, rode along 


GOOD LUCK. 


67 


the forest-path. She was an excellent 
horsewoman, and passionatel}^ fond 
of the exercise ; and j^et here in the 
country she had seldom indulged in 
it, — far more seldom than had been her 
wont. On her first arrival the Aveather 
had prevented ; of late she had felt no 
wish for her favorite exercise ; and the 
principal reason was, that her beauti- 
ful riding-horse had been a present 
from Arthur in the days of their be- 
trothal, and that her aversion to the 
giver extended to all that came di- 
rectly from him. 

It was only Avitli repugnance, that, 
at her marriage, she had worn the 
costly diamonds which formed part of 
her bridal-jewels : since that da}* they 
had not left their case. It Avas with 
a feeling of constraint she moved 
amid the lavish magnificence that had 
surrounded her since her marriage ; 
and even this splendid animal, Aviiich 
had cost a fabulous sum, and which 
had called forth the admiration of the 
Residence as she rode out by the side 
of her betrothed, had of late been 
entirely neglected b}^ its mistress, and 
given over to the care of servants. 

There was great surprise this morn- 
ing Avhen her lad3’ship ordered Afra 
to be saddled ; but the servant, who, 
as usual, made ready to attend his 
mistress, was informed that she Vv’ould 
ride alone ; and so, to the astonish- 
ment of all, she rode forth Avithout an 
attendant. Arthur of course kncAv 
nothing of this : she saw him more 
rarely than ever now, as he habitually 
excused himself from meals ; and the 
life of this married pair had become 
so separate, that one very rarel}’ knew 
hoAv the other passed the day. 

Eugenie in rapid haste rode through 
the forest Avithout meeting any one. 
It was very solitaiy here ; and this 
solitude, the freshness and beauty of 
the morning, had a rare charm for the 
young woman, who for several days 
had not passed the limits of the park. 
The works were idle : an oppressive 
repose and silence brooded over this 
usuallj" restless, active region ; but 
things were all the more lively in the 
cabinet of the j’oung chief, where he 
noAV remained from early morning 
until late at night. 


The officers came and went ; con- 
ferences Avere held, books and papers 
examined. Schiifier Avas continually 
passing back and forth from the Resi- 
dence to the estates ; letters and de- 
spatches flew hither and thither ; but 
over all this restless activity brooded 
a gloom and an oppression. It was 
as if an evil spirit moved in the air, — 
a spirit to be resisted, and if possible 
OA^ercome. 

Eugenie knew that there was a dif- 
ference Avith the miners : Arthur had 
told her so, adding that the affair was 
of slight consequence, and would soon 
be adjusted. V ery calml}", very coolly, 
he had said this to her ; and had re- 
quested her in her dail}- walks to shun 
as much as possible the villages where 
the miners dwelt, as , there was at 
present some excitement among the 
workmen. 

The officers must liaA^e received hints 
not to alarm her lad3’ship ; for Eu- 
genie’s attempts to learn any thing 
further had been met ly polite excuses 
or pacifying assurances. The}^ had 
told her not to be at all anxious, that 
the disturbance was of little moment, 
that its like might be expected any 
day. And 3'et Eugenie felt the hid- 
den danger, as she felt the change 
Avhich had passed over Arthur since 
his father’s death, though his de- 
meanor toward her remained the 
same. 

This 3’oung ay Oman was of too fear- 
less, too proud, a nature not to regard 
this reticence, this evident evasion, 
as a sort of offence. It was true she 
had no right to participation in the 
anxieties, perhaps dangers, of her hus- 
band : Avhat other wives could claim 
la}^ infinitefy far from her. If the 
Avord of separation Avas alread}^ spo- 
ken, and, onfy for the sake of the pro- 
prieties, only to give the world as little 
cause for gossip as possible, thc}^ en- 
dured a IcAv months of life together, 
each must surefy remain foreign to 
the other’s interests. 

This she Avell understood; and, if 
she had not understood it, Arthur 
would have made her sensible of it. 
As he daily grcAV stronger, and, rous- 
ing himself from his former indolence, 
displa3"ed the most energetic and in- 


68 


GOOD LUCK. 


tense activit}’, he grew colder and 
more ^distant to her. She could but 
thank him for thus seeking to alleviate 
for her the painfuliiess of the approach- 
ing separation, by already treating 
her as an entire stranger. 

Eugenie did not conceal from her- 
self that Berkow’s death had removed 
a great liinderance to her wishes. He 
would never have consented to a di- 
vorce from a marriage for which he 
had so ambitiously striven, and which 
he had so dearly won. The son 
thought otherwise. To him, the mar- 
riage was as indifferent as the wife, 
whom, in his former passive acquies- 
cence, he had allowed them to force 
upon him. He had proposed the sepa- 
ration to her before she had made the 
least effort to gain his consent to such 
a step ; and in this case that step, 
which almost everjwEere costs infinite 
struggle, tears, and bitterness ; which 
not seldom stirs up the passions of 
the human heart from their lowest 
depths, — was to be taken with the 
fullest mutual acquiescence ; with such 
coldness, politeness, and heartless- 
ness as to excite the wonder even of 
the prime movers in the affair. 

Afra reared suddenh". The animal 
was not accustomed to the whip, at 
least vigorously applied as at this 
moment. She had to-day suffered 
much from the impatience of her mis- 
tress ; and had Eugenie not been an 
adept in horsemanship, the fier}^, ex- 
citable animal w^ould have given her 
a world of trouble. Afra wms soon 
quieted ; but the delicate brows of her 
mistress were still contracted, and the 
lips compressed as in inward anger ; 
whether over the resistance of Afra, 
or the want of resistance on another 
side, remains doubtful. 

She had, meantime, reached the 
farm, which lay half an hour’s dis- 
tance down in the valley ; and now 
she began to ascend the hill, but not 
up the steep footpath down which she 
had come with Arthur, and which 
equestrians could not pass. Not far 
distant, a highway in long but easy 
windings led up the height. Afra, 
unaccustomed to country roads, showed 
both obstinacy and weariness ; and 
when they reached the hill-top, Eugenie 


was obliged to halt, and allow the ani- 
mal the needed rest. 

The mist}^ veil which had that day 
floated around hill and mountain had 
lifted ; and sunshine warm and bright 
now flooded the earth, as if there had 
never been a time when rain and tem- 
pest had here striven for the mastery ; 
when gray, cloudy, formless spectres, 
like grim spirits of evil, had flitted 
athwart the landscape. 

Still lay the valleys, misty-blue in 
the cool morning shadow^s ; and in 
all the brighter relief stood out the 
mountains, their countless summits 
one overtopping the other, a single 
green forest-sea, with billows rising 
even to the farthest, highest summit. 

The dark firs had adorned them- 
selves in light fresh green ; and with- 
in upon the forest-floor, outside upon 
the rocky ground, between moss and 
stones, wherever a vine could find 
place, or a little plant take root, there 
bloomed and exhaled a thousand forms 
and colors. And the brooks dashed 
down into the valle3'S, and the rejoi- 
cing springs gushed forth, and above 
all arched the cloudless, deep-blue 
sk}" of May. All was so bright, so 
golden, so vast, so free, that it seemed 
as if this newly-awakened life of 
Nature must heal every w^ound, must 
break every chain, — as if here nothing 
could have breath that was not allied 
to freedom and happiness. 

And still the glance of this 3’oung 
woman was strangely grave : there 
wms a painful tension in her features, 
as if for her lay a hidden torture in 
all this surrounding beauty. She 
should have breathed more lightly at 
thought of the promised freedom 
wEich would be hers ere another 
spring greeted the earth. Wh3" could 
she not? Whj’- at this prospect did 
a sensation akin to agon}’ thrill her 
soul? Could there be pain in the 
thought of that hour when the decree 
of separation would be given and re- 
ceived ? 

She longed so ardentty for this sep- 
aration, for a return to her family ! 
she suffered so keenly under this 
chain, which she could scarce longer 
bear ! — since that hour with Arthur 
here upon this height, she really could 


GOOD LUCK. 


69 


bear it no longer. Until then she 
had been firm and resigned to this 
sacrifice for her father, to this destiny 
forced upon her ; fixed in her hatred 
to those who had forged the chain. 
But, with that hour, all her sensations 
seemed to have undergone a change. 
A conflict had begun in her inner 
being, a struggle against a something, 
which, mysterious and unspoken, 
lay in the deepest depths of her soul, 
and which she Tvould for no price 
allow mastery over her. And still it 
was this veiy something which had 
driven her out this morning, and almost 
against her will had driven her to this 
place. It alone was responsible that 
the daughter of the AUindegs had so 
far forgotten etiquette as to ride out 
alone, without the attendance of a 
servant. She could and would to- 
da}' have no witness : and it was w'ell 
she had none ; for as she paused up 
there on the hill, in the midst of the 
golden splendor of the spring, there 
came over her an undefined longing 
for the mysterious charm of that hour 
when cloud and darkness were around 
her ; when the fir-tops swayed above 
her ; when the storm raged through 
the ravines and valleys ; when those 
large brown eyes, which for the first 
time had unveiled their depths to her, 
had also, at that moment, suggested 
to her, that much, perhaps every 
thing, might have been made of this 
man if he had loved and been beloved 
before his father’s hand had plunged 
him into that whirlpool where so 
much of strength and nobleness has 
gone down to ruin. 

And with this consciousness had 
awakened something which Eugenie 
Windeg had never known, something 
which was reserved for the wife of 
Arthur Berkow to experience, — a woe 
far calmer, but infinitely deeper, than 
all she had hitherto suffered. And 
she placed her hand over her eyes, 
from which unrestrainedly welled 
forth a hot stream of tears. 

‘ ‘ Your ladyship ! ” 

Eugenie started, and Afra, fright- 
ened at the strange voice, made a 
sideward spring ; but the same mo- 
ment a strong hand seized the rein, 
and forced the animal to remain 


quiet. Ulrich Hartmann stood close 
beside her. 

‘ ‘ I did not know the horse was so 
timid,” he said apologetically ; while a 
glance, half anxiet}’, half admiration, 
glided over the young horsewoman, who 
in spite of the surprise had remained 
firmly seated in her saddle. 

Eugenie quickly passed her hand 
over her face to remove the traces of 
tears ; but it was too late ; her weep- 
ing must necessaril}" have been seen, 
and the thought of this sent a deep 
fiush to her cheeks, and gave her 
voice an expression of displeasure, 
as she hastily and somewhat imperi- 
ously said, — 

‘ ‘ Let go the rein ! Afra is not 
accustomed to be held by strangers, 
and shies at every unknown touch. 
You are bringing me into danger by 
your nearness.” 

Ulrich listened, and stepped back. 
Eugenie stroked caressingl}^ the neck 
of the animal, which, snorting and 
impatient, had endured the strange 
hand at its bridle, whose power it, 
as it were, in a moment recognized. 
But the caresses of her mistress in a 
feAv seconds pacified Afra. 

Meantime, Hartmann’s gaze rested 
unwavering upon the young woman, 
who sat her horse as feAv women 
could have done. The dark riding- 
dress, the little hat with its gossamer 
veil, surmounting the blonde braids, 
and shading the beautiful face still 
red from weeping, the easy, secure 
bearing, Avhich in spite of Afra’s 
unrest was not for a moment dis- 
turbed, showed in the fullest light 
the symmetry of the tall, slender 
figure. Her whole appearance, as, 
with the sunbeams weaving a bright 
Avoof all around her, she sat on the 
back of the beautiful animal, Avas a 
perfect picture of strength and grace. 

“ HaA^e you been long up here, 
Hartmann?” asked Eugenie, in the 
faint hope that he might have reached 
the hill just at the moment of speak- 
ing to her, and not haA^e seen her 
tears. “ I did not see you before.” 

I stood OA’er there.” He pointed 
to the outlet of the forest, AA'hich she 
had not noticed. “I saw 3*011 ride 
up, and remained to wait for 3*ou.” 


70 


GOOD LUCK. 


The young woman, who was just 
about to ride past him into the wood, 
halted in surprise. 

“To wait for me?” she repeated, 
“ and wherefore ? ” 

Ulrich evaded an answer. “Are 
you alone, my lad}’, — quite alone? 
Have you not as usual a servant 
with you ? ” 

“ No : you see that I am without 
any attendant.” 

IJlrich stepped quickly, but this 
time more circumspectly than before, 
to the horse’s side. 

“Then 3’ou must turn back this 
instant ! I will go with you, at least 
until we come in sight of the works.” 

“But what is the meaning of all 
this? ” asked Eugenie, more and more 
struck by the protfered service, and 
by the dark, contracted brow of the 
young miner. “ Is there danger here 
ill the forest? or is there any thing 
else to fear ? ” 

Ulrich threw a scrutinizing glance 
upon the lower forest-path, whose 
windings from here were only par- 
tially visible. “We were at the forges 
up in the mountains,” he at length 
said 'slowly, — “I and a part of my 
comrades. I went alone by the 
nearest path, because I wished to re- 
turn sooner. The others took the 
highway. You might meet them, 
your lad3’ship, and I would rather be 
near 3*011 at all events.” 

“I am not timid,” declared Euge- 
nie decidedl}*; “and I should hope 
they would not dare insult me. I 
know that there is a difference with 
the workmen ; but the}" tell me it is of 
small moment, and in a short time 
all will be adjusted.” 

“Then they have lied to 3’ou ! ” 
interrupted Ulrich roughly. “ Of ad- 
justment and of trifles, there can be 
no mention here. Herr Berkow has 
declared war upon us, or we upon 
him, — it all amounts to the same 
thing; enough, we are now at war, 
and it will not end until one of us is 
conquered. I say this to 3’our lady- 
ship, and I certainly know best about 
the matter.” 

A slight pallor overspread the 
3’oung woman’s face, as she received 
this confirmation of her long-cherished 


fears ; but the reckless, overbearing 
manner of the revelation offended 
her, and gave her a more than usu- 
ally haughty manner, as she replied 
coldl}", — 

“ Well then, if matters stand thus, 
I cannot possibl}" accept the attend- 
ance, and still less the protection, of 
a man who so openl}* and recklessl}* 
confesses himself the enemy of my 
husband. I will ride alone.” 

She was about to give her horse the 
rein ; but Ulrich started up at this 
motion, and passionatel}" and imperi- 
ously threw himself in the wa}*. 

“ Stop, m}’ lad}" ! You must take 
me with 3’ou.” 

‘ ‘ I must ? ” Eugenie proudly lifted 
her head. “And supposing I W’ill 
not ? ” 

“ Then, I implore 3’ou to do so.” 

There was again that quick transi- 
tion from reckless threatening to 
almost piteous entreaty, which had 
once before disarmed Eugenie’s anger, 
and which even now softened her dis- 
pleasure. She glanced down upon 
the 3’oung miner, who sullenly, 
angril}", and 3’et with an expression 
of unmistakable anxiet}*, gazed up to 
her. 

“I cannot accept 3’our proffer, 
Hartmann,” she said gravel}*. “ If 
your comrades have gone so far that 
in meeting them I am not secure from 
insult, I fear this is alone your 
work ; and from a man who bears such 
an irreconcilable hatred against us ” — 

“ Us 9 ” interrupted Ulrich vehe- 
mently. “ I do not hate you, gracious 
lady, and you should not be insulted, 
certainly not you! No one ventures 
to breathe a word against you when 
I am near ; and if one did venture, he 
would not do so a second time. Take 
me with you ! ” 

For a few moments Eugenie hesi- 
tated ; but her fearlessness and his 
hostile demonstrations just now 
turned the scale. “I will turn 
around and shun ..the highway,” she 
said hastily. “ Remain back, Hart- 
mann ! Respect for Herr Berkow de- 
mands it.” 

As if this name unfettered a long- 
restrained fury, his eyes flamed sud- 
denly up as she spoke it, and a flash 


GOOD LUCK. 


71 


of wild, deadly hatred shot from 
them. “Respect to Herr Berkow ! ” 
he broke loose, — “ Herr Berkow, who 
so lovingly lets you ride alone, when 
he knew that we were up at the forges 
and must now be in the forest ! In- 
deed, he has never concerned himself 
about you ; whether 5’ou are happy or 
unhappy is all the same to him ; and 
still he only is responsible for all ! ” 

“ Hartmann ! how dare 3’ou? ” cried 
Eugenie, glowing with anger and in- 
dignation, but she vainl}^ sought to 
restrain him : he . interrupted her 
words, and in ever-mounting excite- 
ment Avent on, — 

“ Ah, 3'es ! it is certainly a great 
crime to see 3’ou wxep when j'ou think 
no mortal is near ; but I believe 3’ou 
weep very often, my lad3" ; that 3’ou 
have wept very often since coming 
here : only no one sees it as I did just 
now. I know whose fault it is, and 
I will’’ — 

He stopped suddenly ; for the 3' oung 
woman had raised herself in the 
saddle, and now gave him that glance 
of annihilating pride mth which she 
knew how to make herself so unap- 
proachable. Her voice sounded sharp 
and ic3^, and still worse, it was the 
tone of the mistress to the underling 
with which she now commanded him. 

“Be silent, Hartmann! Another 
word, one single word, against n\y 
husband, and I forget that 3’ou saved 
his life and mine, and answer 3wr 
thrust as it deserves ! ” 

She wheeled her horse around, and 
would have passed him ; but Ulrich’s 
giant form stood in the midst of the 
path, and would not move one step. 
He had become ghastl3^ pale at this 
imperious tone, which for the first 
time he heard from her lips ; and the 
hatred which flamed in his e3’es 
seemed now also for her. 

‘ ‘ Stand out of my way ! ” com- 
m|anded Eugenie imperiousl3" as be- 
fojre. “ I wish to go on ! ” 

But she found herself in the pres- 
en ce of a man with whom command- 
ing 

CO 


could not avail, and whom a 
mmand from her mouth roused to 
pt.afect fury. Instead of obeying, 
with a single step he was close at 
hei side, and a second time, now 




with an iron gi’asp, he seized her 
horse’s bridle, regardless of the ani- 
mal’s rearing or of the danger of its 
mistress. 

“ You shall not speak to me in this 
wa3^, my lady ! ” he said in a hollow 
voice. “I can endure much, much 
from you^ if from no one else ; but 
that tone. I wull not bear I Do not 
goad on 3’our horse,” he continued, 
beside himself as Eugenie sought by 
the use of the whip, to force Afra to 
break loose and spring forward, 
“You will not ride me down ; but, by 
God ! I will pull down this horse as 
I did those two others ! ” 

There lay a fearful threat in these 
words, and a still more fearful threat 
in his glance. Eugenie saw this 
savager3^ so feared by all, for the first 
time turned against her ; and she sud- 
denly comprehended the .full danger 
of her situation. But at the same 
moment, with quick presence of mind 
she seized the only means of rescue. 

“Hartmann,” she said reproach- 
fully, but her voice had all at once 
become mild, almost weak, “^st now 
3"ou offered me 3’our protection, and 
do 3"ou 3^ourself threaten me? Aygll, 
trul3^, I see what I have to fear frpm 
3’our comrades if you meet me- thus I 
I would not have ridden into the. 
forest if I had had a suspicion of 
this.” 

The reproach, and more yet, the 
voice, seemed to bring Ulrich to his 
senses ; his wild fur3" vanished when 
he no longer heard the tone which 
called it forth. Still he kept his right 
hand firmly on the rein ; but the 
clinched left gradually relaxed, and 
the threatening expression vanished 
from his features. 

“ I have hitherto never feared 3’ou,” 
continued Eugenie gentl3y “in spite 
of all the bad things I have heard 
them sa3" of 3*011. Yv'ill 3*011 now 
teach me to fear 3*ou? AYe are close 
to the declivit3" of the hill ; if 3*011 go 
on so, exciting m3" horse, or continue 
your threats, an accident will happen. 
Will the man who once threw himself 
under m3* horses’ hoofs, to rescue an 
unknow*n person, now himself bring 
me into danger? Let me go on, 
Hartmann I ” 


72 


GOOD LUCK. 


Ulricli slightly trembled, and threw 
a glance upon the declivit}’, which 
certainl}^ was near enough. Slowly 
he let go the bridle ; and slowl}", as if 
yielding to an irresistible power, he 
stepped to one side to let her pass ; 
Eugenie involuntarily looked back ; 
he stood there dumb, the scornful 
e^'cs upon the ground, and, "without a 
syllable of reply or of adieu, let her 
unhindered ride on. 


XI. 

The young woman drew a deep 
sigh of relief as Afra’s fleetness re- 
moved her from that dangerous pres- 
ence. Courageous as she was, here 
she had trembled. She could have 
been no woman not to have been 
taught by this scene what she had 
long suspected, — that this enigmati- 
cal and contradictory being, this man 
so different from all others, concealed 
some sentiment in regard to her far 
more dangerous than hatred. Still 
he bowed to her power ; but he had 
been near enough breaking his chain. 
She had now proof that this untama- 
ble nature yielded nothing to blind- 
ness or timidity, and that, once 
unfettered, it burst all barriers. 

She had reached the valley ; and, 
mindful of the warning she had re- 
ceived, was about leaving the high- 
way, when she heard the sound of 
hoofs in that direction, and looking 
around saw a horseman coming on 
at full gallop. In a few minutes he 
was at her side. 

“ Ai last!” said Arthur breath- 
lessl}’, as he let his horse fall into 
step with hers. “How very impru- 
dent in 3*ou to ride out to-day ! You 
certainl}^ had no suspicion of the 
risk.” 

Eugenie gazed in surprise at her 
husband, who, glowing and breathless 
from his hurried ride, kept close at her 
side, lie was not in riding-costume ; 
he wore neither spurs nor gloves ; 
just as he was, in his house-dress, he 
must have thrown himself upon the 
horse to hasten after her. 

“ Onlj’ half an hour ago, I learned 


of this caprice of yours,” he contin- 
ued, tiying to control his excitement. 
“ Franz and Anton are already 
seeking you in different directions ; I 
alone found the right track. They 
told me at the farm that 3’ou had 
some time ago ridden past.” 

The 3’oung wife did not ask the 
reason of this anxiet3’ ; she knew it 
sufflcientl3" ; but still the anxiet3^ it- 
self surprised her. He could have 
sent his servants alone to seek her. 
Indeed, the possibilit3" of having his 
wife insulted b3" the miners was very 
unpleasant for the chi^f of the works, 
and the only peculiarity in the case 
was that he humed after her him- 
self. 

“ I was above there,” explained 
Eugenie, pointing to the goal of her 
ride. 

“ Upon the hill where we sought 
refuge from the stoim ! AVere 3'ou 
there?” 

Eugenie blushed deeply ; she saw 
again that strange uplighting in his 
e3^es, which for a week long had van- 
ished. And why was the question 
so wildl3% so breathlessly expressed? 
Had he not long ago forgotten that 
hour which so often still tortui'ed her 
remembrance ? 

“ I happened there b3^ accident,” 
said she hastil3^, as if she must excul- 
pate herself from a fault ; and this 
exculpation had at once the desired 
result. The uplighting in his glance 
vanished suddenl3\ and his manner 
became cool and decided. 

“ B3' accident — ah, 3’es ; I might 
have known that 3^011 would plan no 
such excursion. Afra, I see, 
very unwilling. But you might a ci 
dentalty have taken the road to hf ., , 
and that "was what I feared.” 

“And what was there to fearVl' 
asked Eugenie, as they left the wir^e 
travelled road, and turned off hdoja 
narrower one leading through tir ; fo 
est. 

Arthur tried to shun her se.'ir* 
glance. “You might have c 
tered some disrespect or insu o e 
said. “ Our miners have beei t * 
.upper forges to organize ther. 
resistance to my authority. I! 
mann, by his fulminating add y 


GOOD LUCK. 


73 


has excited them to fury. I hear of 
great commotions up there yesterday ; 
and I know that a band of men com- 
ing from the scene of such a tumult 
is capable of any thing. They must 
now be on the return.” 

‘ ‘ But I should have shunned the 
highway,” said the j’oung woman 
calmly. “ I was already warned.” 

‘ ‘ arned ? By whom ? ” 

“ By Hartmann himself, who a 
quarter of an hour ago I met up in 
the forest.” 

This time it was Arthur’s horse 
that reared violently, frightened at 
the sudden wrench his rider had given 
to the bridle. 

“Hartmann? And did he dare 
approach you and speak to you after 
all that has happened in these last 
days ? ” 

“ It was only to warn me, and to 
offer me his company and his protec- 
tion : I declined both ; that I be- 
lieved I owed to you and to your posi- 
tion.” 

“You believed you owed it to 
me?” repeated Arthur sarcastically. 
“ I am infinitely obliged to you for 
this deference ; but it is well you 
showed it ; for if you had let him es- 
cort you, much as I avoid giving the 
first occasion for conflict, still I 
should have made him sensible that 
the inciter, the ringleader, of this* 
whole rebellion had best keep his 
distance from my wife.” 

Eugenie was silent. In spite of 
this apparent calmness, she knew 
that her husband was fearfully ex- 
cited ; she knew this by the compres- 
sion of the lips, by the trembling of 
the hand ; just so she had seen him 
on that first evening ; only she now 
better than then knew what lay con- 
cealed behind this outward indiffer- 
ence. 

They rode silently on through the 
sunny wood, the sound of the horses’ 
hoofs being subdued on this soft 
mossy floor. Here over all was 
spring’s perfume and spring’s breath ; 
here, too, the clear blue sky which 
had arched over the fir-tops; and 
here, also, the secret woe in Eugenie’s 
heart, only that it rose mightier, more 
agonizing, than there upon the hill. 


The animals trotted side by side 
along the narrow road. The heavy 
folds of Eugenie’s riding-habit swept 
the bu'shes, and her veil more than 
once flattered over Arthur’s shoul- 
der. In such nearness, she could but 
remark that now, when the glow of 
the rapid ride had vanished, he was 
ghastly pale. It is true he had never 
had the fresh animated glow of 3’outh ; 
but this was quite another pallor from 
that of the 3’oung lion of the Resi- 
dence, who had passed his evenings 
in the salon ^ his nights at the gaming- 
table, and then, satiated and debili- 
tated, had lain all day upon his sofa 
with closed curtains because the 
spoiled, weary eyes could not bear 
the sunlight. This pallor came from 
the same source as that gloomy fold 
of care upon the forehead, as the 
grave melancholy expression of the 
face, which had hitherto shown only 
languid indifference. 

But Arthur Berkow gained infinite- 
ly by this change, w^hich w^ould have 
been detrimental to any other. Eu- 
genie now began to see that her 
husband could make pretensions to 
beauty. 

Until now she would not see this ; 
that sluggish insensibility of his na- 
ture had robbed him of every outward 
grace. Now this new expression of 
energy in face and manner made him 
quite another being. 

Ah, yes ! the sunlien world began 
to mount upward from its abyss ; the 
approaching storm had summoned it 
forth, the storm which alone, — Eu- 
genie felt almost with a sort of bitter- 
ness, that she had no share in this 
awakening ; that she did not possess 
the magic word to loose the spell. 
It burst upward through its own 
strength : what need was there of a 
helping hand ! 

“ I am sorry to be obliged to 
shorten your ride,” said Arthur at 
length, interrupting the silence ; but 
he said this in the cool, polite manner 
he always assumed toward her ; “ the 
day is charming.” 

“ I fear a ride out in the open air 
was more necessary to you than to 
me.” In the 3’oung wife’s voice 
there lay an anxiety of which she 


74 


GOOD LUCK. 


T\’as not conscious. “You look so 
pale, Arthur ! ” 

“ I am not accustomed to work,” 
he said in a tone of bitter irony. 
“ This all comes from effeminacy. 
I cannot even for a short time per- 
form the labor my officers do daily.” 

“ It seems to me, on the contrary, 
that you are working be3’ond what is 
required of any one,” returned Eu- 
genie hastily. “ All day long, 3’ou 
scarce leave 3'our cabinet ; and nights 
I see your light burning there until 
morning.” 

A quick flush passed over the 
3^oung man’s face. 

“ For how long a time have 3’ou so 
attentively scrutinized the windows 
of my apartment?” he asked with 
calm but intense bitterness. “ I did 
not believe they really had an3’ ex- 
istence for 3^ou.” 

It was now the 3'oung woman’s 
turn to blush ; but she quickl3^ sub- 
dued the mounting glow, and re- 
turned firml3", “ Since I knew that 
the danger which 3’ou persistently 
denied every day drew nearer. 
Wh3" did 3^ conceal from me the 
magnitude of this conflict, and its 
possible results ? ” 

“ Because I did not wish to alarm 
you.” 

She made an impatient ges- 
ture. “ I am no timid child, whom 
one must surround with such anxious 
care ; and if any danger threatens 
us ” — 

“ Us9 ” interrupted Arthur. ‘ ‘ I beg 
3’our pardon ; but the danger threat- 
ens me alone. I have never thought 
to treat 3’ou as a child ; but I consid- 
ered it my duty not to enlighten the 
Baroness Windeg in regard to mat- 
ters which must b^e indiflerent to her, 
and which in a short time will be as 
foreign from her as the name she now 
bears.” 

The tone of the repl3’' w'as ic3^ cold ; 
and it was her own tone, the one she 
had often enough used toward him 
when she felt it necessary to impress 
him with her high rank and the com- 
pulsoiy nature of her marriage to 
him. Now he gave her a lesson with 
it. In the dark eyes of the 3*oung 
woman flashed something like scorn 


as she fixed them upon her hus- 
band. 

“ And so you deny me all informa- 
tion in regard to 3’our afiairs ? ” 

“ If you wish it, — no.” 

Eugenie seemed for some moments 
to struggle with herself. “ Have 
3’ou refused 3'our miners their de- 
mands ? ” she asked at last. 

“What I could grant, and what 
the workmen of themselves asked, I 
have granted. With Ilartmann’s ex- 
treme demands I can do nothing. 
Their necessary consequences, if 
granted, would be the, subversion of 
all discipline. The3^ would end in 
anarch3" ; and then the3^ are really in- 
sulting. He would hardl3’ have dared 
make them had he not known what I 
have at stake in this contest.’’ 

‘ ‘ And what have 3^011 at stake ? 
asked Eugenie in breathless suspense, 
— “ your fortune ? ” 

“ More still, — my life ! ” 

“ And you will not yield? ” 

In dumb suiqDrise the 3^oung wife 
gazed at her husband, at this man 
who only three months ago could 
endure no “ scene ” with her, because 
it affected his nerves, and w’ho Vvflth 
such composure bared his brow to a 
confliet in which his veiy life w'as at 
stake. Was he really the same? It 
had an iron ring, this “ Wo;” and she 
felt that with just as iron a wdll he 
would oppose the wildest threats of 
the miners. 

“ I fear that Hartmann will pursue 
the quarrel to extremities,” she re- 
plied. “ He hates 3^.” 

Arthur’s lips curled in a disdainful 
smile. “ I know it,” he said. “ The 
sentiment is mutual.” 

Eugenie thought of those wild flam- 
ing eyes, when upon the hill she had 
mentioned her husband’s name ; and a 
sudden anguish came over her. 

“You should not underrate this 
man’s hatred, Arthur. He is terrible 
in his passion as in his energy.” 

Arthur gave her a sullen glance. 
“ Do 3^ou know him so well? But a 
little while ago, you thought this 
blouse hero worthy of 3’our admira- 
tion. A low, worthless energy, — that 
which scorns impossibilities, and 


GOOD LUCK. 


75 


would rather drag hundreds into ruin 
than listen to a word of reason ; but 
even Hartmann may find a wall 
against which his stubborn obstinac}’ 
will beat in vain. He will force noth- 
ing from me. I will fight the battle 
through, even to my own overthro’w.” 

Suddenly he reined in his horse, 
and Eugenie did the same. The 
forest-road here intersected a winding 
of the highway ; and in this they saw 
what they especially wished to avoid, 
— a crowd of miners who had halted 
and seemed to await something. 
Arthur frowned. 

“ It seems that we cannot avoid a 
meeting.” 

“Shall we turn around?” asked 
Eugenie in a low voice. 

“Too late! They have already 
remarked us. We cannot avoid 
them ; to turn around would be flight. 
It is a pity we are on horseback : that 
will enrage them still more. But we 
must here show no signs of weak- 
ness ; we must go on.” 

“ And yet you have feared this 
meeting I ” 

“Not for myself, but for you. 
Now it cannot be avoided ; but you 
at least are not alone. Hold Afra 
tight in rein, and remain close by my 
side. Perhaps we may pass without 
trouble.” 

These words were softly and quick- 
13" exchanged during scarce a min- 
ute’s halt. Now they rode slowly 
onward, and passed Out into the high- 
road. 

Arthur was right. The manner of 
meeting could scarce have been 
W"orse. The workmen were in an ex- 
cited condition, inflamed and imbit- 
tered by the scene just passed at the 
forges. The3’ had alread3^ begun to 
suffer from the results of their oppo- 
sition ; and now they saw their chief, 
who would not 3ueld to their demands, 
mounted on horseback by the side of 
his high-born Tvife, as they thought 
returning from a pleasure-ride, — a 
dangerous sight for men already 
struggling against starvation. A 
low muttering became audible, fol- 
lowed by half-uttered threats and in- 
sulting words. They subsided as the 
two reached the highway; but the 


whole throng, as with one consent, 
formed in a dense mass, to prevent 
the riders’ passage. 

Arthur’s lips again showed that 
slight nervous quiver which with him 
was the only outward token of excite- 
ment ; but his hand did not tremble 
in the least as he gi’asped Afra’s 
bridle, in any event to keep the ani- 
mal close to himself. 

“ Oluck auf! ” 

The greeting remained unanswered. 
Not a single one of the whole throng 
returned it. Instead, hostile glances 
upon both darted from all sides ; and 
those standing nearest pressed still 
more closel}" forward. 

“ Will you not let us pass? ” asked 
Arthur gravely. “ The horses will 
become restless if 3"ou crowd so. 
Make way 1 ” 

In spite of the danger of the situ- 
ation, which she fully comprehended, 
Eugenie gazed in astonishment at her 
husband. It was the first time she 
had heard this tone from his lips ; it 
rang ver3" calm, but it had none the 
less the full authority of the master 
to his underlings. This demeanor of 
Arthur’s, though certainty venture- 
some at such a moment, would have 
proved an absolute success if the 
crowd had been without a leader. 
But now all eyes turned in one di- 
rection, as if from there alone they 
expected the signal for obedience or 
opposition. Up 3"onder stood Ulrich 
Hartmann, w^ho had just come down 
from the hill, and whom the}" evidently 
were awaiting here. He stood im- 
movable, his arms crossed, his e3"es 
fixed upon Berkow and his wife ; but 
there was nothing good in the ex- 
pression of these e3"es. 

Arthur’s glance had followed the 
others. He now turned quite around. 
“Hartmann,” he said, “are }"ou 
leader to-da}"? Well, see that 3"our 
men let us pass. We are waiting.” 

Had there been in these words the 
slightest trace of a command or 
an entreat}^, no matter which, the}" 
would have been as a spark in a 
powder-keg ; and Ulrich, indeed, 
seemed only to await this spark. 
But this cool request for him to give 
orders here, assuming this to be his 


76 


GOOD LUCK. 


self-evident dut}", and at the same 
time recognizing his authorit}", im- 
pressed without offending him. He 
came slowlj' forward. 

“Ah! I see you wish to ride on, 
Herr Berkow.” 

“ Certainly. We wush to pass 
over to the other side of the road.” 

An annihilating hatred flamed up 
in Ulrich’s eyes. “ And do you call 
me here to win j^ou this favor? You 
are master of 3'our works and 3^our 
w'orkmen : command them to give 
place to 3’ou. Or ” — here his voice 
again became hollow and threatening — 
‘ ‘ perhaps 3’ou now believe that I am 
master here, — that I need onlj" speak 
a word to prove it to j^ou ? ” 

Eugenie had become very pale as 
she urged her horse closer to her hus- 
band’s side. She knew that those 
flashing ej’es did not threaten her : 
it was not for herself she trembled. 
Now courage failed her to try the 
might of that power before which 
Ulrich himself had bowed. She felt 
that this power would be without 
avail, w'hile he saw her at her hus- 
band’s side. 

“A hundred are always masters 
against one,” said Arthur cooll3\ 
“ I cannot think j’ou mean to kill me, 
Hartmann. Would 3*011 not feel safe, 
if, at this moment, 3’ou accidentall3" 
found 3*ourself in the presence of m3" 
officers ? I think I am safe here, — 
safe as in m3’' own house.” 

Ulrich gave no answer : he looked 
sulleiity at the 3*oung man, who, with 
perfect repose, halted before him, and 
with those clear, brown e3"es gazed 
at him unwaveringl3*, as when the 
quarrel first broke out. At that time, 
it is true, he had stood in his confer- 
ence chamber surrounded and pro- 
tected b3’ his officers ; now he found 
himself alone, in the midst of an ex- 
cited mob, who only w’aited the sig- 
nal to break loose upon him with 
insult, perhaps violence ; and still 
not a muscle of his face quivered, 
still his bearing was proud and se- 
cure, his glance fearless, as if he 
knew and felt himself master even 
here. 

Such calmness and fearlessness did 
not fail of their impression upon this 


throng, accustomed to obedience. 
The only question remained : w hom 
should they now obey ? For the sec- 
ond time they turned inquiringly to 
Ulrich, who still stood there silent. 
He looked up, then aside to the pale 
face of Eugenie. All at once he 
stepped back. 

“Make wa3^ there,” he said, “so 
that the horses can pass. There to 
the left.” 

The command was at once obe3*ed, 
with an alacrity which show*ed that 
the men obe3*ed it not unw*illingl3". 
In less than a minute the wa3" was 
open, and Berkow* and his wife rode 
on unhindered. At the other side of 
the highwa3", the3" again took the for- 
est road, and immediatel3* vanished 
betw'een the trees. 

“Listen, Ulrich,” — with a sort 
of good-natured reproach, Lorenz 
stepped up to his comrade, — “just 
now 3*011 flew at me, because up at 
the forges I spoke of peace. What 
have 3*ou done now ? ” 

Ulrich still stared over to the for- 
est. Now*, w*hen the presence of the 
chief no longer influenced him, he 
seemed to regret his sudden magnan- 
imous impulse. 

“ ‘ A hundred against one ! ’ ” mut- 
tered he bitterly, and ‘ I am safe in 
3"our midst ! ’ Ah, 3*es ; fine speeches 
never fail them wLen the3" are afraid ; 
and such as we keep biting awa3^ at 
the old bait.” 

“ He did not look as if he was 
afraid,” said Lorenz decidedl3\ “He 
is not at all like his father. Ulrich, 
w*e had better ” — 

“ What had we better do? ” inter- 
rupted Ulrich angril3". “ Give in, 
had w*e ? So that 3*ou can only* once 
more have peace and quiet, and he 
carry* things with a higher hand than 
even his father, when he sees that all 
goes w*ell with him. If I let him go 
to-day^, it w*as because he was not 
alone, — because he had his w*ife with 
him, and because ” — he broke off 
suddenly*. The proud, reticent man 
w*ould sooner have bitten off his tongue 
than let his comrade know w*hat 
pow*er had forced him to spare the 
man he hated. 

, Meantime Arthur and Eugenie had 




GOOD LUCK. 


77 


ridden on in silence. As if the dan- 
ger just past had drawn them nearer, 
they still let their horses keep close 
together, and Arthur still held Afra’s 
bridle, although there was nothing 
more to fear ; and this precaution in 
case of so excellent a horsewoman as 
Eugenie was quite superfluous. 

“Now you comprehend the danger 
of your to-day’s excui’sion ? ” he asked 
at length. 

“ Yes ; but also the danger of 3’our 
position.” 

“ I must bear it. You have 3’our- 
self seen what blind obedience this 
Hartmann knows how to enforce. A 
w^ord from him, and they let us ride 
on unhindered ; not a single one dared 
murmur, and yet they were all only 
w'aiting a signal from him to turn 
against us.” 

“But he did not give the signal,” 
said Eugenie. 

Arthur again fixed upon her that 
long, lowering gaze. “No, not to- 
day. He best knows what restrained 
him. But he wull to-morrow, da3* 
after to-morrow, if we chance to meet 
again. I am quite certain of that.” 

At the outlet of the forest the3" 
spuiTed their horses to a quicker trot, 
and in a quarter of an hour reached 
the terrace of the countiy house. 
Arthur swung himself from the sad- 
dle. How light and elastic were his 
movements in comparison with his 
former sluggish wm3’s ! He extended 
his hand to help down his wife ; but 
the pallor upon her face had deepened ; 
she trembled slightly as he placed his 
arm around her ; and this trembling 
grew more violent as his arms held 
her a moment longer than ever before 
when he had offered her such assist- 
ance. 

“'W'ere3’OU frightened?” asked he 
softly, as he took her arm to conduct 
her into the house. 

Eugenie gave no ansTver. Ah, yes ! 
she had passed through deathly an- 
guish at that scene ; but she would 
sooner have borne to be deemed cow- 
ardly by him than let him suspect 
that she had trembled for his sake. 
And still a suspicion of this seemed 
to dawn upon* him. 

“Were you frightened, Eugenie?” 


repeated he. His voice sounded so 
tender, so subdued, and he drew her 
arm closer and closer to his breast. 
She lifted her e3"es to him ; there 
it w'as again, — that deep, magical 
uplighting of his, only more glowdng, 
more treacherous, than she had ever 
before seen ; and he bent close down 
to her so as not to lose a S3dlable 
of her answer. 

‘ ‘ Arthur, I ” — 

“ The Herr Baron Windeg and his 
eldest son arrived half an hour ago,” 
reported a servant, hastily coming to 
meet them ; and the announcement 
was scarce made, when the 3'Oung 
baron appeared, and, with all the fire 
of his eighteen years, rushed down 
the step to gi’eet his sister whom he 
had not seen since her marriage. 

“Ah, Curt! itit3mu?” The3’oung 
woman felt almost a spasm of pain at 
the aiTival of her father and brother, 
for w^hich, under other circumstances^ 
she had so longed. At the moment, 
when the name Windeg was spoken, 
Arthur let fall her hand. She saw 
how icy-cold were his features, and 
heard how icy-cold were the tones of 
his voice, as with distant politeness 
he saluted his brother-in-law. 

“Will 3’ou not accompany us?” 
asked Eugenie as he paused at the 
foot of the stairs. 

“ Pardon me, if I beg 3mu to 
receive 3’our father alone . I had — for- 
gotten something, and it has just 
come to m3’’ mind. I will as soon as 
possible pay my respects to the 
baron.” 

He stepped back, while Eugenie and 
her brother ascended the stairs with- 
out him. The brother appeared to 
be somewhat surprised, but a glance 
at his sister’s pale face bade him 
repress the questions that already 
trembled on his lips. He could very 
well imagine how matters stood. 
Had this parvenu, on the ride, been 
indulging in new insults to his sister? 
The 3^oung baron hurled down a 
threatening glance to his brother-in- 
law ; and then, with a fresh outburst 
of tenderness, he said to his sis- 
ter, — 

“ Eugenie, I am so delighted to 
see 3"ou again, and you ? ” — 


78 


GOOD LUCK. 


The young woman forced a smile. 
“ I, too, am delighted to see you, 
Curt, inexpressibly delighted ! ” At 
the same moment, she glanced down 
into the vestibule, but it was empty : 
Arthur had left already. She drew 
herself up in wounded pride. “Let 
us go to father,” she said : “he is 
waiting.” 


XII. 

Among all the dwellers upon the 
Berkow estates, there was perhaps 
only a single one who took this sud- 
den and violent quarrel between the 
chief and his workmen from an}’’ 
other than its threatening side ; and 
this one was Herr Wilberg. In the 
blonde head of this young officer lay 
concealed so much extravagant and 
high-flown romance, that he could not 
help regarding the danger of the situ- 
ation, and the bitter dissensions which 
at any moment might result in a 
catastrophe, as in the highest degree 
interesting. 

In truth, his admiration for Ulrich 
Hartmann had been entirely trans- 
ferred to the young chief since he had 
stepped to the helm of affairs, and 
grasped the reins with a firmness 
none would have believed possible 
from a hand that had seemed so weak. 
The ’"newly-developed energy with 
which Arthur had endeavored to make 
himself at home in this new field, and 
to stem the tide of losses and dan- 
gers breaking in upon him from all 
sides, demanded in the highest degree 
the support of the upper-officers : the 
younger official gentlemen, whose 
duties for the time were for the most 
part at an end, were enjo}ing an 
unwelcome repose ; and Herr Wilberg 
employed this in nursing his supposed 
passion for her ladyship, and imagin- 
ing himself as unhappy as possible. 

To tell the truth, the latter became 
somewhat difficult to him, as, upon 
the whole, he found himself very com- 
fortable in this hopeless passion. 
To appear poetic in his eyes, a love 
must needs be unhappy ’‘b a 
happy love he really won ive 


known what to do. This distant 
adoration perfectly suited him ; and 
he found abundant opportunities to 
yield himself up to it, as he seldom or 
never approached its object. 

Since that day when he had accom- 
panied her ladyship through the 
park, he had spoken to her but once. 
At an accidental meeting, Eugenie 
had sought from him more exact 
information as to the significance of 
the strike which had broken out 
among the mines. But Herr Berkow 
had given strict directions to his 
officers not in any manner to excite 
the anxiety of his wife ; and Wilberg 
obeyed so far as to keep silence in 
regard to the present position of 
affairs. 

And yet he could not avoid de- 
scribing as minutely as possible the 
scene which had taken place in the 
conference-chamber between her hus- 
band and Hartmann ; and, as he must 
needs revel in the romantic, this 
scene in his mouth assumed such a 
dramatic interest, and the young chief, 
with his suddenly-awakened energy, 
grew to such an heroic personage, that 
it was incomprehensible how the 
description could so entirely fail in 
its effect. 

Eugenie certainly had listened with 
breathless interest: but she had be- 
come noticeably pale and strangely 
silent during the whole recital ; and, at 
its conclusion, the narrator awaited 
in vain for an expression from her 
lips. Without the least allusion to 
the subject, she politely thanked him, 
and then coolly dismissed him ; and 
the young man went away in the 
highest degree astonished and some- 
what wounded at her want of sjunpa- 
thy. 

And even her ladyship had no 
sense of the poesy of such a situa- 
tion. Or had she, perhaps, failed in 
appreciating this, because her hus- 
band was the hero ? Any other 
would have triumphed in the thought ; 
but Wilberg’s poetic fancies, so long 
indulged, had subverted all natural 
emotions. He was wounded because 
the eloquent description, his descrip- 
tion, had so entirely failed in its 
effect. He already felt something of 


GOOD LUCK. 


79 


that glacial atmosphere which the 
chief engineer had spoken of as sur- 
rounding her ladyship. She all at 
once became so high, so distant, so 
unapproachable, that the most he 
could have expected of her was a 
polite dismissal. He must still be- 
lieve this, and worship her uncondi- 
tionally, or imagine himself a very 
commonplace, unimportant person ; 
and to imagine such a thing would 
have been impossible to Herr Wil- 
berg. 

Absorbed in thought, he had ap- 
proached the overseer’s dvrelliug ; and, 
as he usually looked neither to the 
right nor left, on the bridge he ran 
against a young lady just coming 
down the hill. With a low cry, she 
sprang to one side to avoid the shock ; 
and Wilberg now, for the first time 
seeing her, stammered an embarrassed 
apology. 

‘‘I beg your pardon, Fraulein 
Melanie,” he said. ‘‘I did not see 
you. I was so lost in thought that I 
paid no attention to any thing around 
me.” 

Fraulein Melanie was the daughter 
of the chief engineer, w’hose house 
the young officer sometimes visited ; 
but his thoughts, as may be supposed, 
took so high a flight, that he paid 
little attention to this girl of sixteen 
years, who certainly possessed a 
graceful figure, a pretty face, and a 
pair of roguish e^-es. But there w^as 
nothing romantic about her. Such 
girls were far from being poetic 
enough for Herr Wilberg ; and, as for 
Melanie, she had never troubled her- 
self much about the blonde young 
officer, who seemed rather tiresome to 
her, and who now, by a few polite 
W'ords, deemed it necessary to atone 
for his involuntaiy rudeness. 

“ You seem just returning from a 
walk, FrMein,” he said. “ Did you 
go far ? ” 

“ Oh, no ! not at all far. Papa has 
forbidden me long walks, and does 
not like to have me go out alone. 
Tell me, Herr Wilberg, is there really 
so much danger from our miners ? ” 

“ Danger? What makes you think 
of that?” asked Wilberg diplomati- 
cally. 


“Well, I do not know; but papa 
is so grave sometimes, that it makes 
me sad and anxious. He has already 
spoken of sending mamma and me to 
visit in the city.” 

The young man put on a lugubri- 
ous face. “ The times are serious, 
fearfully serious, Fraulein Melanie,” 
he said. “ I cannot blame your 
father for seeking security for his 
wife and daughter, while we must 
stand and fight to the last man.” 

‘ ‘ To the last man ! ” cried the 
young girl in horror. “ For God’s 
sake ! my poor papa ! ” 

“Well, I am only speaking figura- 
tively,” said Wilberg soothingly. 
“We need have no fear of personal 
danger ; and, even should it come to 
that, the age of our chief engineer, 
his duties as a husband and father, 
exclude him. We younger ones must 
step into the breach.” 

“And you too!” asked Melanie 
with a somewhat distrustful glance. 

‘ ‘ Certainly, Fraulein Melanie : I 
first of all.” 

Herr Wilberg, who, to give more 
emphasis to this declaration, had sol- 
emnly laid his hand upon his heart, 
all at once sprang backward, and has- 
tily retreated over to the other side 
of the road, where with equal celerity 
Melanie followed him. Close behind 
them stood the giant figure of Hart- 
mann. He had come over the bridge 
unremarked ; and a disdainful smile 
now overspread his face, as he no- 
ticed the terror of the two young peo- 
ple. 

“You need not be so frightened, 
Herr Wilberg,” he said ; “I shall not 
harm you.” 

The young officer seemed to feel 
the ludicrousness of his sudden re- 
treat, and to see, that, as companion 
and protector of a young girl, a differ- 
ent demeanor was required of him. 
He hastily recalled his courage ; and, 
placing himself right before the terri- 
fied Melanie, with something of firm- 
ness, he said, — 

“ I cannot believe, Hartmann, that 
you will attack us here on the open 
street.” 

‘ ‘ The officers all appear to believe 
as much,” said Ulrich derisively. 


80 


GOOD LUCK. 


“ As soon as they catch a glimpse of 
me, they run off as if I were a high- 
wa}’' robber. Only Ilerr Berkow acts 
otherwise.” In Hartmann’s voice, 
there was an envenomed tone, as if 
he could not calmly speak that hated 
name. “Even if I had the whole 
herd of miners behind me, he would 
defy me.” 

“Herr Berkow and her ladj^ship 
are the onl}^ ones on the whole works 
who suspect nothing,” said Wilberg 
unguardedl3^ 

“Who suspect nothing about 
what?” asked Ulrich morosel}^, and 
slowly tui’ning his eyes upon Wil- 
berg. 

Whether the young officer was 
enraged b}’^ this merciless irony of 
himself and his colleagues, or whether 
he thought it necessary to play the 
hero in Melanie’s presence, we cannot 
say. However this may be, he had a 
sudden spasm of courage, such as not 
seldom drives timid natures to 
extremes, and returned hastity, — 

“We do not run from 3*011, Hart- 
mann, because 3*ou stir up the work- 
men to revolt, and make all under- 
standing with them impossible : 
certainl}" not for that. But we go 
out of 3*our ’wa3*, because ” — here he 
lowered his voice so that Melanie 
could not understand the words, 
“because the rope broke when you 
were coming up with Herr Berkow. 
If 3*011 must know, this is wh3" all 
shun 3*ou.” 

The words were ver3* thoughtless, 
verv bold certainly, for a man like 
Wilberg ; and he had little dreamed 
of their effect. Ulrich started back 
with a repressed, 3*et fearful cry of 
rage ; but, at the same moment, his 
face became white as that of a corpse. 
The threateningl3*-clinched fist sank, 
and convulsivel3* clutched at the iron 
trellis- work of the bridge. With 
throbbing breast, with set teeth, he 
stood there ; and his glance flashed 
do*.vn upon the man before him as if 
it would annihilate him with one 
lightning stroke. 

This was too severe a trial for the 
courage of the two 3*oung people. 
They did not know which ran first, 
caiTymg along the other; but they 


both ran with all possible speed, ant, 
not until several houses la3^ between 
them and the man they feared, and 
they were sure that he "was not follow- 
ing, did they moderate their pace. 

“For Heaven’s sake, what was it 
3*ou said to that horrible man, — that 
Hartmann, — that so excited him?” 
asked Melanie tremblingly. ‘ ‘ What 
temerity to enrage him so ! ” 

The 3*oung man smiled, although it 
was with white lips. It ■was the first 
time in his life that he had been 
reproached w*ith temerit3", and he v/as 
conscious of having in the fullest 
measure deserved the reproach. Now 
he saw the whole magnitude of his 
venture. 

“My pride as an officer was 
wounded, — it was m3* duty to guard 
3*011, friiulein : 3*ou see, that, in con- 
sequence of m3" words, he did not 
venture near us.” 

“No: we ran away at the right 
time,” said Melanie naivel3". “And 
it was fortunate we did so. He 
would have killed us if we had not.” 

“I ran awa3" for 3*our sake,” re- 
turned Wilberg sensitive^. ‘ ‘ Alone, 
I would in an3" event have withstood 
him, even if it had cost me m3* life.” 

“ But that would have been so sad,” 
remarked the 3*oung lad3*. “ You 
make such pretty verses ! ” 

Wilberg blushed in the most de- 
lighted suqirise. “Do 3*011 know my 
verses? ” he asked. “I did not sup- 
pose that in 3*our house, — 3*our father 
is somewhat prejudiced against my 
poetical bent.” 

“Yes, papa was a little while ago 
speaking to the director about it,” 
said Melanie ; and then she stopped 
suddenly. She could not tell the 
young poet that her father, with the 
most cutting iron3* and malicious 
comments, had read to his colleague 
the verses which to her sixteen-year 
old tastes seemed so touching and 
beautiful ; that he at last had thrown 
the sheet upon the table with the 
words, “And in such fooleiy as this 
the man passes his time.” 

She had thought this ridicule in 
the highest degree unjust to Herr 
Wilberg, who had ceased to be tire- 
some to her now that she had learned 


GOOD LUCK. 


81 


of that unhappy ^ove which pervad- 
ed and inspired his verses. This 
explained and excused all his 
peculiarities. She hastened to assure 
him, that, for her part, she found his 
poetry delightful ; and somewhat 
timidly, yet in the most sympathetic 
manner, she began to console him for 
his supposed misfortune. 

Herr Wilberg allowed himself to be 
consoled. He found it agreeable 
be3’ond description to have met at^ 
last a being who understood him, and 
far more agreeable to receive her con- 
solations. 

Both 3^oung people deeply regretted 
having so soon reached the engineer’s 
dwelling ; and it was with real unhap- 
piness that the}" saw this gentleman, 
in his own exalted person, standing at 
a window, and gazing at them with 
critical, astonished glances. 

Wilberg had no desire to encounter 
the inevitable raillery of his superior, 
if Melanie should incidentally happen 
to allude to the meeting with Hart- 
mann, and their running away from 
him as if on a wager. He therefore 
parted from the 3’oung girl with the 
assurance that she had dropped balsam 
into his heart ; and Melanie tripped 
up the stairs racking her brains as to 
who might be the object of the j-oung 
officer’s interesting but unhappy 
passion. 

In the dwelling of overseer Hart- 
mann the old man sat at a table, his 
head buried in his hands. Not far 
from him, at a window, stood Lorenz 
and Martha, as Ulrich opened the 
sitting-room door. At his entrance, 
the conversation of the three stopped 
so suddenly, that the 3"oung miner 
must have supposed that he had been 
its subject. 

But, not seeming to notice, he closed 
the door behind him, and, without 
word or gi’eeting, threw himself into 
the gi’eat arm-chair by the stove. 

Gluck aufT' said the overseer, 
turning to him. “ Do you no longer 
think it worth your while to give us 
greeting ? ” 

“ Do not annoy me, father ! ” burst 
out Ulrich impatiently, again throw- 
ing back his head, and pressing his 
hand against his forehead. 

6 


The overseer shrugged his shoul- 
ders, and turned awaj". Martha left 
her place by the window,''‘and sat down 
by her uncle to resume the work she 
had dropped in her conversation w-ith 
Lorenz. For some moments an op- 
pressive silence reigned in the room. 
At last Lorenz stepped up to Ulrich, 
and said, “Steiger Wilms has 
^een here to ^eak wdth j’ou, Ulrich, 
iind will return in an hour. He has 
^een all over the neighboring works.” 

Ulrich started up, passing his 
hand over his forehead as if he would 
chase away a tormenting dream. 
“Well, how is it?” he asked; but 
the question seemed half mechanical, 
as if he could not quite recall the 
subject of conversation. 

“They are all going to join us,” 
said Lorenz. “Our taking the lead 
seems to have given them courage. 
There is rebellion everj^vhere. The 
upper forges are to begin ; and the 
other w"orks to follow unless all their 
demands are immediately granted, 
and that is not to be thought of. In 
a week the mines and forges of the 
whole district will stop.” 

“ last !'’ — Ulrich sprang up as 
if electrified. His absence and 
dreaming had all at once vanished. 
The whole elasticity of the man had 
returned. “At last!” he repeated 
with a deep breath. “ It was indeed 
time. They have long enough left us 
alone.” 

“ Because we alone took the lead.” 

“That may be, but we could not 
wait : things here were not as in the 
other works. Every day brought the 
Berko ws a step forward, and us a 
step backward. Is Wilms over at 
the villages? He must immediately 
tell this to his comrades. It will give 
them courage.” 

“They need something to give 
them courage,” said the overseer 
gravely. “ Not a stroke of work has 
been done for a fortnight. You wait 
and wait for a concession, for a com- 
promise I at least, wffiich in 3"our opin- 
ion must come, and 3"et 3"ou wait in 
vain. The officers shun 3^ou, and the 
master does not look as if he would 
yield an inch. I tell 3’ou, Ulrich, it is 
high time you found allies ” — 


82 


GOOD LUCK. 


“ Oh, no ! not at all, father,” began 
the 5’oung man. “We have been idle 
scarce two weeks ; and I have told 
jwi, that, in case of necessity, we can 
hold out two months if we would con- 
quer ; and conquer we must.” 

The old man shook his head. 
“Two months! You can hold out 
that length of time, Ulrich ; so can I 
and Lorenz ; but not those who have 
wives and children.” 

“They said Ulrich cooll3^ 

“Iliad thought w^e might carry this 
through more quickly and easily, but 
1 erred. If those above us insist on 
driving us to extremities, Tve will 
them let taste those extremities to the 
last drop.” 

“Or they us,” interposed Lorenz. 
“ If the master reall}^” — 

Ulrich stamped furiously. “ The 
master, and always the master ! Have 
you, then, no other designation for this 
Berkow? You did not use to call 
him so ; but since he has told you to 
your face what he is, and what he 
■w’ill do, you call him no other name. 
I tell 3'ou if we succeed, we are the 
masters ; then he will have onlj’ the 
name, and we the power. He knows 
right well that it wdll end in this. 
That is why he resists us so, and why 
all our demands must be granted at 
an}" price.” 

“ Try it” said the overseer curtlj^ 
“ See if you alone can turn the world 
upside down. It is a long time since 
I have had a word to say about it.” 

Lorenz took his hat from the win- 
dow-sill, and made ready to leave. 
“ You know how far we can go,” he 
said. “ You are our leader, Ulrich.” 

Ulrich’s face grew dark. “Yes, 
I am your leader,” he replied. “ But 
I had thought it more eas}^ to hold 
you together. You make things dif- 
ficult enough.” 

“ We ? ” asked the 3*oung miner ex- 
citedl}". “You surel}^ cannot complain 
of us : we all obev 3"OU at vour 
word.” " • 

“Obey!” With a morose, search- 
ing glance, Ulrich measured his com- 
rade’s face. “ No,” he said, “ there is 
no lack of obedience ; I do not com- 
plain of that : but things have changed 
with us all, and particular!}" between 


you and me, Carl. You all now 
seem so strange and cold and shy ; 
and sometimes I think 3"ou fear me 
more than an}" thing else.” 

“ No, no, Ulrich ! ” cried Lorenz, in 
a manner so excited as to lead to the 
supposition that his friend was right. 
“We confide in you wholly, entirely. 
AVhat you have done has been done 
for us, not for yourself : we all know 
that, and shall not forget it.” 

• The "words were harmless enough, 
and still they seemed to have a hidden 
meaning. Ulrich appeared to feel 
this ; for, "with a penetrating gaze, he 
fixed his eyes upon the speaker. 
Lorenz recoiled from the glance, and 
looked at the floor. 

“ I must go,” he said hastily. “ I 
will send Wilms over to you. Will 
you still remain here so that he can 
find you ? ” 

Ulrich made no answer. The 
glowing excitement of the last few 
moments had all at once yielded 
again to the deep pallor his face had 
worn on his entrance. He only 
nodded his head in assent, and turned 
to the window. 

Lorenz bade the overseer good 
night and left the room. - Martha rose 
and went out with him. The girl had 
not spoken a word during the entire 
interview, but had gazed steadfastly 
on both men. She remained quite a 
long time outside ; but this did not 
occur to those left behind. They 
knew that a prospective bridal pair 
must have much to whisper to each 
other, and seemed to concern them- 
selves very little about it. 

The father and son were alone ; but 
the silence between them w"as even 
more oppressive than before at Ulrich’s 
efitrance. Ulrich yet stood at the win- 
dow, his forehead pressed against the 
pane, and stared out without seeing 
any thing. The overseer had not left 
his place : he still sat at the table, his 
head resting on his hand ; but the 
old man’s face had strangely altered in 
these last weeks. It had become 
care-worn and sorrowful : the furrows 
graven by age had deepened ; and the 
eyes looked weary and troubled, as if 
all that early energy and combative- 
ness which had led him to give so 


GOOD LUCK. 


83 


many severe lectures to his ‘son had 
gone forever. 

The silence at last become intoler- 
ble for Ulrich, and he turned around 
V’ith an impatient gesture. 

“And have 3^ou nothing at all to 
saj’, father, to the news Wilms brings 
us ? Is it, then, all the same to you 
whether we conquer or are con- 
quered ? ” The overseer slowly raised 
his head. “ It certain^ is not all the 
same to me,” he replied ; “ but I can- 
not be delighted at having j^ou break 
out into threats and violence. I will 
wait and see who this hanns most, — 
the gentlemen or us. You need ask 
nothing more from the miners, for 
3’ou have got j’our will. Well, go 
ahead ! You are now master and 
lawgiver of the whole w^orks. All 
come to }mu, all bow before j’ou, all 
obey 3'ou at your word. This w’as 
just what 3’ou wanted from the first, 
just wh}" all this was planned ” — 

'‘'‘Father! ” interrupted Ulrich start- 
ing up. 

“Ah, well! lot that matter rest,” 
said the old man evasivel}". “ You 
wall not confess it to me or to j’our- 
self, but it is so ! They have all gone 
with ,you, and I also ; for I could not 
remain back alone. See -what 3’ou 
are leading us to ! You must take 
the responsibilit3\” 

‘ ‘ Did I begin the rebellion alone ? ” 
asked Ulrich passionately. “ Was 
it not a unanimous conclusion that 
things must change ? and did we not 
agree to stand together until the 
change was effected?” 

‘ ‘ Then no concessions had been 
made ; now all 3"our reasonable de- 
mands have been granted. The 
things for which 3’'ou would fight are 
not the demands of the workmen, — 
the3’ are your own ; and it is 3’ou alone 
who hold fast to them. If it had not 
been for 3'ou, the men would all be at 
w’ork again, and we should have peace 
and pro3perit3^ upon the works.” 

The young steiger* scornful^ threw 
back his head. “ Ah, well 1 ” he said. 
“ I own that all this is my doing ; and 
I think it no disgrace to me that I 
know more and see farther than the 
others. If they are content to have 


tolerable, the little span of life in the 
mines more secure, I am not content, 
and the courageous spirits among us 
are not so. We demand much, al- 
most every thing, that is true ; and, if 
Berkow were still the millionnaire the 
world considers him, he might guard 
against thus falling into our hands. 
But he is a millionnaire no longer ; 
and upon us, upon whether our hands 
work or refuse to work for him, de- 
pends his whole weal or woe. You 
do not know, father, how things look 
up in the bureau and the conference- 
chamber : but I know ; and I tell 3'ou, 
that, let him resist as he will, he must 
3deld as soon as the rebellion breaks 
loose upon him from all sides.” 

“ And I tell 3^011 he will not yield,” 
declared the overseer. “He will 
sooner close the works. I know 
Arthur. When he was a little boy 
he was just as he now is, — entirely 
different from 3'ou. You alwa3’s set 
about things violently, — 3’ou would 
conquer all b3’ force, vdiethcr it was a 
piece of work, a garden-fence, or a 
comrade : he did not willingl3^ set 
about any thing ; and it was 011I3" after 
long hesitation that he could persuade 
himself to this ; but let him once 
begin a work, and he would never let 
it go until finished. Now he is fairly 
awake, and he will show 3’ou all of 
what stuff he is made. Now that he 
has the reins in his hands, no one can 
force them from him. He has some- 
thing of 3’our own obstinac3^ If 
3’ou arc ever made to feel it, remem- 
ber my Vvwds.” 

Ulrich did not contradict with his 
wonted violence ; but his dark, lowering 
glance told how enraged he was that he 
could not contradict. Perhaps he had 
alread3- experienced this obstinac3^ 

“ And, however things turn out,” 
continued the father, ‘ ‘ do you think 
that 3'ou will remain steiger, — that 3"ou 
will be allowed upon the works after 
all that has happened ? ” 

The young man laughed derisively. 
“No, in truth not, if it depended 
upon Berkow and the officers. They 
surel3^ would not take me again into 
favor. But we ask no . favors ; we 
dictate ; and our first demand of all is 
for me to remain.” 


the old misery made a little more 

* Master-miner. 


84 


GOOD LUCK. 


“ And are j’ou so sure of this?” 

“Father, do not insult my com- 
rades to my face ! They will never 
desert me.” 

“Not even if the first demand 
from headquarters is for 3'ou to go? 
And if Berkow himself makes it ? ” 

“No, never! He can ncA^er ac- 
complish that. The workmen all 
know that I have not done this for 
myself. Things were well with me : 
I had no need to starve, for I could 
find my bread anywhere. It was 
their misery I would relieve. Do not 
speak of their deserting me, father. 
They give me trouble enough, I own ; 
but, if things come to the worst, I 
W'ill still fight my way through : no 
one will leave me in the hour of peril. 
Wherever they go, I shall lead them ; 
and I know that they will stand by 
me, even in misery and death.” 

“Yes, at the first they would have 
done so, but not now.” The old 
man had risen ; and as now, for the 
first time, he turned his face to the 
light, one saw how sorrowful were 
his features, how bowed his form, but 
a little while ago so erect and vigor- 
ous. 

“You yourself have just said to 
Lorenz that things have changed,” 
he continued in a hollow voice ; “ and 
3^ou must know the da^" and hour 
when the change came. I need not 
tell you this, Ulrich : I can only sa}', 
that day robbed me of the little peace 
and joy I had still hoped for my old 
age. Now all is gone forever ! ” — 

“ Father!’’ cried the 3’oung man. 

The overseer made a hast}", repel- 
lent gesture. “Never mind,” he 
said. “ I know nothing of it ; I will 
know nothing of it, even if I am 
forced to hear it. The bare thought 
has almost robbed me of m}^ senses.” 

Ulrich’s^ eyes hashed, — threatening 
as before at Lorenz’s insinuation. 

“ And if I now tell 3mu, father, that 
the meshes of the rope were alread}" 
broken, that my hand had notliing to 
do with it ” — 

“No, tell me nothing,” returned 
the old man bitterly. “ I cannot be- 
lieve you, neither do the men believe 
in 3"ou any more. You have always 
been wild and violent : in youi* wrath 


you would strike down even your best 
friend. Go among your comrades, 
and say to them, ‘ It was a mere 
accident,’ not one of them will be- 
lieve you,” 

“ Not one!” repeated Ulrich sadl}". 
“ And not even you, father?” 

The old man fixed his troubled e3"es 
upon his son. “ Can 3^11 here declare 
to my face that 3"Ou had no blame in 
the accident? None at all. That 
you ” — he did not end the question ; 
for Ulrich could not endure his glance. 
His still hashing eyes were fixed upon 
the fioor : he turned awa}" with a 
tremulous gesture, and was — silent. 

There was a long, oppressive silence 
in the room, broken only by the old 
man’s heavy breathing. His hand 
trembled as he passed it over his 
forehead ; and his voice trembled still 
more, as he at last said, — 

“ You say 3"ou had no hand in the 
accident? You might not have had 
directly ; but all suspect 3’ou. Noth- 
ing can be investigated, nothing 
proved — God be thanked ! nothing 
at least b}" the law. Confide in me 
alone, Ulrich ; tell me what reall}’ did 
happen down there ; but boast no 
more of 3"our comrades. You must 
have seen, that, since that da}", the}* all 
fear 3"ou. See how long 3’ou will be 
able to rule them b}" this fear alone ? ” 

The old man left the room ; the 
son made a movement as if he would 
rush after him ; then all at once he 
stood still, and with his clinched 
hand beat his forehead, while from 
his throat there came a sound almost 
like a repressed groan. 

Ten minutes might have passed, 
when the door again opened, and 
Martha entered. Her uncle had not 
returned ; and Ulrich lay upon the 
lounge, his face buried in his hands. 
But this did not seem in the least to 
surprise the girl. She merely 
glanced at him ; and then, stepping to 
the table, began to gather up her 
work. 

At the sound of her step, Ulrich 
started up. He now rose slowly, and 
came over to her. Usually he took 
no interest in Martha’s affairs, — not 
enough at least to converse with her 
about them. To-day it was otherwise. 


GOOD LUCK. 


85 


Perhaps for this stubborn, reticent 
nature, the moment had come when 
he longed for some word, some token, 
of sympathy. Doubly dear must 
have been such word or token just 
now, when all shunned him, all drew 
back from him. 

‘ ‘ So you and Lorenz are reall}^ 
lovers?’* he began. “I have not 
once spoken with you on the subject, 
Martha : I have latterly had so many 
other things in my head. Are you 
betrothed ? ” 

“Yes,” wa^ the short, half-evasive 
answer. 

“ And when will the marriage be? ” 

‘ ‘ There is plenty of time before that.” 

Ulrich gazed down at the girl, who, 
with hasty breathing and trembling 
fingers, busied herself about the 
work, not even looking up to him ; 
but yet he dreamed that a silent re- 
proach lay in her eyes. 

“ You have done right, Martha,” 
said he gentl}^, “ quite right. Carl 
is good and kind, and loves you 
more than — any other would have been 
able to do. And still 3'ou hesitated 
in your decision. When did you. give 
him your promise ? ” 

“ Three weeks ago to-day.” 

‘ ‘ Three weeks ago to-day ! Is that 
so? That was the day of the acci- 
dent in the mines. Was it really at 
that time ? ” 

“Yes, just then! Until then I 
could not. On that day I first knew 
that I could be his wife.” 

From the j^oung 
man’s voice came forth a cry, half 
anger, half pain. He sought to lay 
his hand upon her arm. She trem- 
bled violently, and involuntarily 
turned away. Ulrich let his hand 
fall, and stepped backward. 

‘ ‘ And you too ? ” he said in a hollow 
voice. “Indeed, indeed, Martha, I 
should not have thought it ! ” 

“ Ulrich ! ” broke forth the girl in 
wild, despairing agony. “ O my 
God! what have 3’ou done to us? 
what have you done to j-ourself ? ” 

He stood opposite her. The hand 
which he rested upon the table trem- 
bled, but his features had taken on an 
expression of fearful hardness and 
bitterness. 


“ Wliat have I done to myself? 
For that I alone am answerable. To 
3^ou? Well no onfe will listen to the 
story from me. But I tell 3'ou once 
for all,” — here his voice rose loud and 
threatening, — “that I have had 
enough of these endless innuendoes 
and vexations : I can endure them no 
longer. Believe what 3’ou please and 
of whom 3w please. In the future 
it will all be the same to me. What 
I have begun, I will carry through in 
spite of 5^ou all ; and, if no one will 
place confidence in me, I shall well 
know how to enforce obedience.” 

He went. Martha made no effort 
to detain him, and such effort would 
have been in vain. He slammed the 
door- behind him soviolentty, that it 
jarred the whole house. A moment 
after he was out in the open air. 


XHI. 

The arrival of guests at the Berkow 
countr^’-seat had certainly brought 
some life ; but it had introduced no 
greater union into the cold, alienated 
household of this 3"oung married pair. 
Although the visit was designed to be 
only of a ,few da^'s’ duration, Arthur 
found plenty of excuses for absence, 
and opportunities for avoiding any 
frequent meetings, a piece of civility 
for which his father and 3’oung 
brother-in-law were extremel3^ grate- 
ful. 

Baron Windeg, after a two weeks’ 
stay upon the Rabenau estates, now 
his own, was returning to the Resi- 
dence. Upon his first visit to his 
daughter, he had been obliged to leave 
the next morning. Even the fearful 
catastrophe which had happened 
during his stay, could not detain him ; 
for a nearer duty of relationship sum- 
moned him to pay the last honors to 
his cousin. After this duty had been 
faithfull3^ discharged, he had found 
in the household and upon the estates 
much demanding the presence of the 
new heir. Now in the company of 
his eldest son, whom he had allowed to 
follow him, he had set out for home ; 
and, as Cui’t had not seen his sister 


86 


GOOD LUCK. 


since her marriage, they naturally 
took the short by-road leading over 
the Berkow estates. 

From the conversation, which, upon 
the day of their arrival, took place in 
Eugenie’s parlor, and from which, as 
usual, Arthur was absent, this seemed 
to be something more than a mere 
visit or re-union. Eugenie and her 
father had for a long time been sitting 
together on the sofa ; now the baron 
had risen, and stood before his daugh- 
ter, while Curt, leaning against a 
chair, with a look of intent expecta- 
tion, gazed over to his sister. 

Eugenie had rested her forehead in 
her hand so that the hand shaded her 
face. She did not change her posi- 
tion, she did not even look up, as she 
answered in a low voice, — 

“I do not need these hints and 
insinuations, father, to enable me to 
know 3'our meaning. You speak of 
a — separation.” 

“Yes, my child,” said the baron 
gravel}" ; “ of a separation, no matter 
under what pretext, or at what price. 
Those forced to a thing are wont to 
hold to it only through compulsion : 
this the Berkows themselves must 
admit. Now that I am master of 
my alfairs, now that I need no longer 
be their debtor, I will venture all to 
release you from those fetters which 
you assumed only for my sake, and 
which, whether you admit it or not, 
make you infinitely unhappy.” 

Eugenie did not answer. The 
father took her hand, and again sat 
down by her side. 

“ Is the thought new and surpris- 
ing to you ! It occurred to me at 
the moment when I received the un- 
expected tidings of the change in our 
fortunes. What did old Berkow not 
resort to in order to obtain this union 
with us ? The possibility is not im- 
aginable, that he would have allowed 
a divorce which must exclude him 
from that circle where he had forced 
entrance through us ; and the contest 
could not have been undertaken with 
a man who in his unscrupulousness 
was capable of any thing. His sud- 
den death has changed all ; but the 
opposition of his son remains to be 
overcome. Arthur, in the whole 


affair, played only a passive roZe, and 
resigned himself to be the tool of his 
father. I hope he will yield to ener- 
getic proceedings on our side.” 

“ He will yield,” replied the young 
wife in a low voice : ‘ ‘ you need have 
no anxiety on that account.” 

“So much the better!” returned 
the baron. “So much the sooner 
we shall reach our goal.” 

He seemed, indeed, in great haste 
to reach this goal. To the poor, 
almost bankrupt nobleman, who saw 
ruin just before him, no choice had 
remained but to accept Eugenie’s 
sacrifice, and thereby redeem the 
name and station of his son : humili- 
ating as this had been to him, he had 
bowed to necessity, and necessity had 
taught him to bear it. But the heir 
of Rabenau, who had won back his 
full independence and his fulE self- 
importance, who could with ease 
restore the sum he had received, felt 
this compulsion a burning disgrace, 
and his daughter’s marriage a heavy 
wrong against her, for which he must 
at any price atone. During his entire 
sojourn upon the new estates, this 
thought had been uppermost in his 
mind ; and he had laid his plans, which 
were now ready for execution. 

“It must be your wash, Eugenie, 
as W"ell as ours, that this painful 
transaction be conducted and end as 
speedily as possible. I think you 
had better now accompany us to the 
Residence, and from there take the 
necessary steps. You can then 
simply decline returning to your 
husband, and await the decree of 
divorce. We will take care that he 
does not violently assert his rights.” 

“ Yes, by Heaven, we will do that, 
Eugenie 1 ” inteiposed Curt passion- 
ately. “If he should still refuse to 
undo this shameful business, your 
brother’s sword will compel him to it. 
He cannot now threaten us with dis- 
grace and public humiliation as his 
father did. It w"as the only thing 
before which the Windegs have ever 
trembled, — the only means by which 
they could force a daughter of our 
house to an alliance with them.” 

“Recall your threats. Curt,” said 
Eugenie; “and you, father, banish 


GOOD LUCK. 


87 


your anxieties. Both are here un- 
necessary. This divorce, which 3’ou 
think must be a matter for strife and 
compulsion, has long been a settled 
thing between Arthur and me.” 

Windeg started up ; and, in violent 
surprise. Curt drew nearer his sister. 
Eugenie evident!}^ struggled to give 
firmness to her voice ; but she could 
not succeed : the voice trembled au- 
dibl}’^ as she continued, — 

“We had agreed upon this, even 
before Berkow’s death ; but we wished 
to shun the publicit}^ of so early and 
sudden a rupture, and therefore de- 
cided to preserve the outward re- 
straints of a married life.” 

‘ ‘ Even before Berkow’s death ! ” 
repeated Curt: “that was shortly 
after your marriage.” 

‘ ‘ And you yourself had spoken of 
the matter? You were decided upon 
it ? ” asked the baron, in equal sur- 
prise. 

Neither of the two men could 
understand the pain so plainly de- 
picted on the 5^oung wife’s face. She 
evidently summoned all her self-con- 
trol for the answer, and it was firmly 
given : — 

“I have never alluded to the sub- 
ject. It was Arthur, who, of his own 
free will, offered me the separation.” 

'The baron and his son looked at 
each other, as if this statement 
passed their powers of comprehen- 
sion. 

“ I certainly was not prepared for 
this,” said the baron at last, slowl}^ 
“i/e, himself f I had not expected 
that.” 

“It is all the same,” cried Curt, 
in a sudden access of tenderness, 
“if he only gives 3^011 back to us, 
Eugenie. None of us has been able 
to enjo3" the new inheritance, because 
we knew that you were unhappy for 
our sake. Now, if 3'’ou come back to 
us, our father, we all, shall begin to 
breathe freely in the new life. You 
have ever3’where, in it all, been want- 
ing to us.” 

He flung his arm around his sister, 
and for a few moments she buried 
her face on his shoulder. But this 
beautiful face was deathly white and 
cold, as Curt had once before seen it 


at the altar. Why should this be, 
when she was now to return to the 
father’s house from which she was 
then to be torn ? 

The baron, in some surprise, 
gazed upon his daughter, who now 
rose erect, and passed her handker- 
chief over her forehead. 

“ Forgive me, papa, if I seem 
strange to 3’Outo-da3^,” she said. “ I 
an not quite well, — not well enough, 
at least, for a conversation on this 
subject. You must permit me to 
withdraw. I ” — 

“You have suffered too much of 
late,” added the father tenderly. “ I 
see it, my child, even if 3’ou do not 
confess it to me. Go, and leave to 
me all the care. I will spare 3’ou as 
much as possible.” 

“This is very singular, papa,” 
said the 3’oung man, as the door 
closed behind his sister. “ Do you 
comprehend this Berkow? I do not.” 

Baron Windeg, with contracted 
brow, paced up and down the room. 
With the strangeness of this revela- 
tion blent something ver3' mortif\dng 
to him. The proud aristocrat had 
found it quite comprehensible that an 
upstart, with millions at his command, 
should shun neither intrigues nor 
sacrifices, and venture all, to force a 
relationship with him, even though 
such relationship brought with it only 
contemptuous hatred ; but he had 
never forgiven his plebeian son-in-law 
•for receiving the hand of a baroness 
Windeg with as much indifference as 
if this had been onl}^ a common mar- 
riage, and for having afterward 
shown himself as unappreciative of 
the high honor as his father had been 
appreciative. And now he — this 
Arthur Berkow — sought a release 
from the union, before the3^ had even 
so much as permitted him. This was 
quite too 'much for the pride of a 
Windeg, who had been ready to con- 
tend for the recover}" of his daughter, 
but who could not bear to receive her 
back from the haughtiness or the in- 
difference of her husband. 

‘ ‘ I will speak with Berkow,” he 
said at length ; ‘ ‘ and if he really is 
of our mind, which, notwithstanding 
Eugenie’s assertion, I must still doubt, 


88 


GOOD LUCK. 


the business shall be entered upon 
iinmediateh’.” 

“Immediately?” asked Curt. 
“ They have been scarce three months 
married ; and I think they are right 
in seeking to avoid too early and 
abrupt a separation.” 

“Certainly they are,” replied the 
baron ; “ and I should agree with you 
unconditionall}", if I had not veiy 
urgent reasons for hastening the mat- 
ter. Upon the works here, all is not 
as it should be. I have received a 
hint from a friend who knows, that 
the rebellion now broken out among 
the miners may inflict a deadly wound 
upon the Berkow wealth, which is 
believed so uiicalculable. If Berkow'’s 
fortune really collapses, his wife can- 
not leave him just at that moment : 
in the face of the world, she cannot. 
Although we have deeper and more 
serious reasons for the separation, 
the world would regard the loss of 
fortune as the reason ; and this must 
not be. It is better for us to assume 
the responsibility of so early a rup- 
ture, than to have our hands tied 
when the dreaded catastrophe really 
comes. A divorce is not a transac- 
tion which can be carried through in 
a few weeks : it requires a year at 
least ; and in half that time the sepa- 
ration can be arranged, if Berkow' 
throw's no difficulties in our way. 
Eugenie must return to our house, 
must be free, before the}" suspect in 
the Residence how matters stand 
here.” 

“ I thought my sister would enter 
into our plan with far more pleasure 
and animation,” said Curt thought- 
fully. “ If the}" had previously de- 
cided upon this step, the idea of 
course was not new to her ; but yet 
she is cold and silent, as if all this 
lay infinitely remote from her, as if 
it dealt not at all with her own free- 
dom.” 

The baron shrugged his shoulders. 
“ She suffers at the thought of the 
unavoidable publicity, she shrinks 
from the formalities and disagreea- 
bleness of the trial, w'hich cannot be 
spared her. Such a separation is 
ahvays a painful step for a w’oman, 
but still it must be talien. In this 


case, at least, we shall have the whole 
Residence on our side. The reason 
of this marriage could have been no 
secret, and all will readily compre- 
hend wffiy w'e seek to dissolve it.” 

“ There comes Berkow", ” said Curt 
half aloud, as the door of the adjoin- 
ing room opened. “ You will speak 
with him ; wull you not, papa ? Shall 
I leave you alone ? ” 

Windeg shook his head. “You 
are the eldest son of our house ; and 
in such an interview the presence of 
a third person is apt to impose a 
salutary restraint. You will remain, 
Curt.” 

AYhile these words w'ere softly and 
hastily exchanged, Arthur had passed 
through the ante-mom, and now 
entered. The greeting on both sides 
w'as icy and polite as usual, and the 
conversation began with the wonted 
commonplaces. The guests regretted 
that they could so seldom enjoy the 
society of their host ; and the host 
pleaded a pressure of business which 
robbed him of the pleasure, &c., — 
mutual civilities, which neither side 
wns expected to believe, and behind 
W’hich they intrenched themselves so 
as, at least, to have something to say. 

“I hope that Eugenie’s constant 
presence richly compensates you for 
my enforced absence,” continued 
Arthur, glancing through the salon as 
if in quest of his young wife. 

“ Eugenie has withdrawn on ac- 
count of a slight indisposition,” ex- 
plained the baron ; ‘ ‘ and I would em- 
ploy the opportunity of her absence 
to express a wish whose fulfilment de- 
pends principally upon yourself.” 

“ You have only to state your wish, 
Herr Baron, if the granting of it de- 
pends upon me,” returned Arthur, 
placing himself opposite his father-in- 
law ; while Curt, who w'ell knew what 
w’as coming, withdrew to a window- 
niche, and seemed to be attentively 
gazing out upon the terrace. Baron 
AYindeg’s manner assumed its utmost 
formality, and all that aristocratic 
dignity which lay at his command. 
By this manner he sought to impress 
the plebeian husband of his daughter, 
and at the outset silence every pos- 
sible opposition ; for at the most he 


GOOD 

could but regard that separation pro- 
posed on Arthur’s side as a mere ebul- 
lition after some passionate scene. 
He did not believe that Arthur seri- 
ously had any such idea. 

‘‘They must, I think, place a 
greater significance upon the rebellion 
at 3'our works than it really de- 
serves,” began he. “Yesterday, as 
I stopped at the town to call on the 
commandant of the garrison there, a 
friend of my 3'outh, I was told that 
the outbreak of your worlonen into 
open insurrection was ver\' proba- 
ble.” 

“People in the town seem to be 
more occupied with my works and my 
workmen than I had supposed,” re- 
plied Arthur coldly. “ In any event, 
I have not called on the colcmel for 
eventual help.” 

The baron understood the rebuff. 
“For m,5’self, I naturally have no 
opinion in the matter,” he replied 
calmly. “ I would only remind j^ou, 
that it will not be proper to expose 
Eugenie to possible scenes and out- 
breaks. I very much desire to take 
my daughter home with me for a time, 
until matters here become settled.” 

The 3’oung man’s face betrayed 
some slight emotion. He threw a 
hasty glance over to the door leading 
to his wife’s chamber, as if he would 
ascertain if the wish had originated 
there. But his answer was perfect!}' 
calm. 

“Eugenie is entire mistress of her 
own actions. If she thinks the re- 
moval necessary, I give her perfect 
freedom.” 

Baron Windeg gave a nod of satis- 
faction. “Then she will accompany 
us to-morrow,” he said. “As to the 
duration of her visit there, we come 
to a point painful for us both to dis- 
cuss ; but I prefer to treat with you 
by word of mouth, especially so, as I 
know, that, in the, main, our wishes 
coincide.” 

Arthur seemed about to start up 
from his chair; but he controlled 
himself, and kept his place. 

“Very well. I suppose that Eu- 
genie has ah-eady communicated with 
you.” 

“Yes. Are you surprised at that? 


LUCK. 89 

She certainly would first of all con- 
fide in her father.” 

The young man’s lips quivered. 
“I supposed,” said he, “that the 
matter would remain a secret between 
us until the time for action came. I 
have erred, as I see.” 

‘ ‘ Why defer the carrying out of a 
conclusion once fixed upon?” asked 
the baron calmly. ‘ ‘ The time is 
just now favorable. The present con- 
dition of your estates gives us the 
best and plainest excuse for my 
daughter’s removal. The world need 
not at first know that this removal is 
to be a permanent one. Now in 
summer, w’hen all our friends have 
left the Residence, the preparatory 
steps can be taken unremarked. 
Where publicity cannot be avoided, 
it is always best to perform a deed in 
the face of the world. In this way 
the propensity for gossip is soonest 
stayed.” 

A short • pause ensued. Arthur 
again fixed his glance, this time with 
an inquiring expression, upon the 
door leading to Eugenie’s chamber. 
Then he turned deliberately to her 
father, and asked, — 

“ Does the wish for this haste come 
from Eugenie herself? ” 

The baron thought proper at this 
moment to conceal the truth : this 
'would end matters sooner, and in any 
event Eugenie would thank him for it. 

“ I speak in my daughter’s name,” 
declared he formally. 

Arthur started up suddenly, and so 
violently that the chairrfell back. “ I 
consent to all, Herr Baron,” he said, 
“to all. I thought I had stated to 
your daughter my reasons for delay : 
they were for the most part dictated 
by regard for her. I did not think of 
myself. If, regardless of these, she 
still wishes matters accelerated, — let 
it be.” 

His manner of speaking was so 
peculiar, that Curt, who, although he 
had not lost a syllable of the conver- 
sation, still seemed to be gazing out 
on the terrace, all at onee turned 
around, and looked in surprise athisa 
brother-in-law. Baron Windeg also 
seemed startled ; but there was really 
no ground for excitement here, where 


90 


GOOD LUCK. 


both sides were simply hastening for- 
ward a disagreeable necessity. 

“ You also unconditionally agree to 
the separation ? ” he asked somewhat 
hesitatingly. 

“ Certainly.” 

The baron breathed more freely. 
Eugenie, then, had been right when 
she predicted the immediate consent 
of* her husband. The business now 
remaining, in the baron’s opinion, 
offered scarce any difficulty. 

‘ ‘ I am very grateful to you for 
3’our obligingness,” he said cour- 
teously : “it will do much to facilitate 
a step so painful for both sides. One 
•thing still remains, which, though it 
has no connection with this matter, 
must 3’et be arranged. Your father,” 
— a deep flush overspread the fore- 
head of the now wealth}^ baron at this 
remembrance, — “ 3’our father had the 
goodness to assume certain obliga- 
tions for me which at that time 1 
could not fulfil. I am now in a posi- 
tion to do this, and I would like to 
hasten ” — 

He paused ; for Arthur raised his 
eyes, and fixed them on his face in a 
glance so open and so rejDroachful 
that he could not go on. 

‘ ‘ Had we not better let this matter 
rest?” he asked. “For m3^ part, I 
implore it.” 

“ It might rest, so long as our 
mutual relations remained as now,” 
replied Windeg gravel3’ ; “ not when 
they are dissolved. You will not 
oblige me to remain 3’our debtor.” 

“ This cannot be called a debt in the 
usual sense. M3^ father, at the last, 
only enforced his own demands, and 
the documents were destro3'ed as soon 
as ” — here the terrible excitement of 
the 3’oung man broke through his en- 
forced repose — “as soon as the price 
for them was paid ! ” 

The baron seemed deeply wounded. 
“At that time the agreement was 
closed at Herr Berko w’s express wish,” 
replied he coldly: “ now it is to be 
dissolved mostly at our wish. Cir- 
cumstances are now changed.” 

“ Is it absolutel3" necessary, that, in 
this divorce business, we hold fast to 
the conditions of ; a bill of sale ? ” 
Arthur interrupted with cutting irony. 


“ I hope, that, for a second time, my 
wife and I shall not be made the ob- 
jects of a business transaction. Once 
was enough.” 

The baron misunderstood the words, 
fulty as he misunderstood the impulse 
which dictated them. He again put 
on his aristocratic air, and with great 
dignity said, “ Be pleased to re- 
member, Herr Berkow, that the tenn 
‘ business,’ which 3W are pleased to 
use, has relation to 01113' one of the 
two parties : it does not apph' to 
us.” 

Arthur stepped back ; but his bear- 
ing was proud and unapproachable as 
an3^ the titled gentleman opposite 
him had ever known hoiv to assume. 

“ I now know,” he said, “ how this 
marriage w'as brought about, and I 
also know how those obligations arose 
which forced 3’ou to consent. This 
being the case, 3*011 can well appre- 
ciate my demand, that the debt shall 
not be alluded to, not even b3’ another 
S3’llable. I demand from 3*011, Herr 
Baron, that 3*011 do not foree a son to 
blush at the remembranee of his 
father.” 

Baron Windeg had onee before been 
unable to comprehend his son-in-law, 
when he declined the title of no- 
bilit3\ But this had been done in 
that cool, negligent wa3' character- 
istic of the former Arthur Berkow. 
This present appearanee and bearing 
quite petrified the baron. He glanced 
involuntarily’ over to his son, who had 
stepped out of the window-niche, and 
whose 3*outhful faee expressed an 
astonishment he took no pains to 
conceal. 

‘ ‘ I did not know that you looked 
upon the transaction in this light,” 
said Windeg, after a pause. “ I had 
no intention of wounding you, but ” — 

‘ ‘ I assume that. And now grant 
me the favor of forgetfulness in re- 
gard to it all. As to this divorce 
business, I will instruct 1113* lav»*yer to 
meet every step of yours. If any 
thing is required of me personally, I 
beg 3*011 to command me. I will do 
every thing in my power toward gain- 
ing the desired end speedily and con- 
sideratel3'.” 

He bowed to both gentlemen, and 


GOOD LUCK. 


91 


left the room. The next moment 
Curt was at his father side. 

“ What does all this mean, papa?” 
he asked. “ What, for Heaven’s sake, 
has come over this Arthur within the 
last three months? Yesterday I 
found him far more decided, far more 
serious, than usual ; but this de- 
meanor — I would never have believed 
it possible from him.” 

The baron had not yet recovered 
from his astonishment, but the excla- 
mation of his son brought back his 
bewildered senses. 

‘ ‘ Arthur really seems not to have 
been aware of the role his father 
played with us,” said he. “ That cer- 
tainly changes matters. If he only 
would not harbor the supposition that 
I am to remain his debtor ! ” 

“He does quite right,” cried Curt 
excitedl}^, “ if he knows of the usuiy 
b}^ which old Berkow goaded us to 
ruin. He did not advance us a quar- 
ter of the sum which afterward 
seemed of such giant dimensions to 
us ; and the son could not take back 
a penny of it without dishonoring 
himself. We saw how deeply morti- 
fied he was as jon recalled the humil- 
iating story. But the conversation 
took a strange turn. Though in this 
transaction he played a more disgrace- 
ful role than we, he at least knew how 
to represent matters in such a light 
as to make us ashamed of our offer.” 

Windeg took the last remark rather 
ungraciously, perhaps because * he 
could not contradict it. 

“If we did young Berkow wrong, 
I am now ready to render him full 
justice,” he said ; “ and all the more, 
because in this divorce affair we really 
owe him thanks. I would not have 
believed he would make it so easy for 
us, although I am aware that he 
seemed indifferent to the marriage 
from the first.” 

Curt resumed that thoughtful air so 
unusual to him. “The divorce does 
not appear to me by any means so 
settled,” he said. “Berkow was far 
from being so calm as he would have 
us suppose, and so was Eugenie. 
The violence with which he trembled 
wdien you declared that she insisted 
on an immediate separation showed 


nothing like indifference, and the face 
with which Eugenie left us still less. 
From all this, a strange idea has 
arisen in my mind.” 

The baron smiled, and with an air 
of great superiority said, “You are 
still a mere child. Curt, in spite of 
your years and 3^11' epaulets. Do 
you really suppose that the conclusion 
which it now appears they reached 
long ago came without preliminaiy 
scenes and contentions ? In any 
event, Eugenie has suffered bitterly, 
and perhaps Berkow. What 3’ou 
have so wisely remarked is onl}" the 
reverberation of earlier storms, noth- 
ing more. God be thanked, we have 
now fair weather on both sides, and ' 
the storms are at an end.” 

“ Rather, they are just beginning,” 
replied Curt, half aloud, as with his 
father he left the salon. 


XIV. 

Evening had fallen, but through- 
out the Berkow mansion reigned a 
restless activit3\ Baron Windeg and 
his daughter had had a long conversa- 
tion that afternoon ; and, immediately 
after, the maid had received orders to 
pack her mistress’s trunks. Herr Ber- 
kow had also announced to the ser- 
vants, that early to-morrow morning 
his wife would set out with her father 
for a visit of some weeks to the Resi- 
dence, — a piece of news that natural- 
ly went the rounds of the officers’ 
houses, and in them, as at the Ber- 
kow house, caused more anxiet}^ than 
surprise. 

It was clear as the sunlight that 
the chief only sent her lad3’ship awa}’, 
because he was convinced that insur- 
rection would soon break out upon the 
works. He would have her safe in 
the Residence, and had, no doubt, re- 
quested her leather to come and take 
her awa3\ 

Windeg was right : the pretext was 
so plausible, that it occurred to no 
one to doubt it. The peculiarlj^ cold 
relations between this married pair 
had at first been much spoken of and 
commented upon throughout the Ber- 


92 


GOOD LUCK. 


kow colony ; but now all such com- 
ment had ceased. ’ It was known that 
the marriage had not been one of af- 
fection ; but as nothing like passion- 
ate scenes or violent quarrels had 
been seen or heard by the servants, 
as the 3'oung husband was always po- 
liteness itself to his wife, and she 
showed the utmost calmness and ami- 
ability in her relations to him, it was 
supposed that they must have become 
accustomed to each other, and be 
quite content together, — the usual 
sequel of such mercenary marriages. 
Their somewhat novel manner of life 
was assumed .to be only a custom of 
the fashionable world ; as people in 
the Residence were said to live, for 
the most part, on this distant, coolly- 
polite footing. That the Baroness 
Windeg and the son of the million- 
naire Berkow followed this custom, 
had ceased to be a matter for surprise 
or remark. 

No one dreamed that the departure 
of her ladyship, which had been pre- 
ceded b}" no sort of quarrel, involved 
a separation ; and it surprised no one 
that the master and mistress did not 
pass the evening together, and that 
Baron Windeg and his son supped 
alone in the dining-room. It did not 
seem strange to the lad3"’s maid, that 
her mistress, not being well, had tea 
sent to her boudoir; and it was a 
matter of no comment to the servants 
that Herr Berkow did not sup at all, 
but, oh account of urgent business, 
retired to his cabinet, having first 
given orders on no account to be dis- 
turbed. 

Without, utter darkness reigned ; 
and within, the lamp burning on the 
writing-table of Arthur’s cabinet 
threw its light upon the man, who, for 
more than hour, had paced restlessly up 
and down, — who now, behind closed 
doors, threw off that so long-enforced 
indifference, and gave free course to 
the stonn that ranged ^yithin him. 

This was indeed no longer the 
blase 3'oung heir with his apathetic in- 
difference : neither was it the j'oung 
chief, who, with an energy and deter- 
mination so suddenly awakened, knew 
how to impress his workmen, and im- 
part new coui’age to his officers. 


In this face raged the whole vio- 
lence of a passion whose magnitude 
even its possessor had not known 
until about to lose its object. That 
moment had now come, and it de- 
manded its right. Upon this pale 
forehead, on these trembling lips, in 
these burning e3’es, stood plainly 
written all that to-day’s conversation 
had cost him. And 3^et Baron Win- 
deg had expressed his surprise that 
the affair could be so easily ar- 
ranged ! 

And now it had come, — that long- 
dreaded hour of separation ! And it 
was well that it had come thus ; that 
another will had inteiposed where his 
own had proved itself powerless. 
How often during the last fortnight 
had , Arthur thought of availing him- 
self of the excuse which the baron 
now proposed to him, and thereby 
shortening the torture of this life 
with Eugenie ; for that calculating 
outside coldness, for whose deception 
the inward glow must eveiy moment 
atone, could be borne no longer. 
For this, mortal strength could not 
siiffice ; and 3’et nothing had been 
done. 

That the inevitable had best hap- 
pen si3eedil3^, is a truth none can gain- 
say ; but not ever3^ one who possesses 
the courage to set the knife with firm 
hand to an envemoned bodily wound 
has the same courage to tear a con- 
suming passion from the heart. 

They had long been alienated, — 
these two ; but he saw ever before 
him that beautiful, blonde head, with 
the proud, but now grave features, 
and the dark, expressive e3'es ; that 
voice rang ever in his ears ; and at 
moments there flashed through his 
'soul a lightning-like gleam of happi- 
ness, which counterbalanced da3's and 
weeks full of bitterness ; as 3’esterda3^, 
when in the forest, with such manifest 
anxiet3", she had pressed her horse 
close to his, when she had trembled 
in his arms as he lifted her down. 
It might be cowardice ; but of his own 
free will he could not have renounced 
all this, until others had ordered it as 
now. 

The door softly opened, and a ser- 


GOOD LUCK. 


93 


vant stepped hesitatingly upon the 
threshold. 

“ What is it?” asked Arthur hasti- 
ly’. “ Have I not given orders ? ” — 

“I beg your pardon, Herr Ber- 
kow,” said the man timidl}^ ‘‘I 
know that 3’ou do not wish to be dis- 
turbed ; but as — as her ladyship, her- 
self”— 

“Who?” 

“My lady herself is here, and 
wishes ” — 

The servant had no time to end the 
sentence ; and he could but be sur- 
prised at the violence with which his 
master flung open the door, and has- 
tened into the ante-room, where he 
very unexpectedly saw his wife, who 
seemed to be waiting there. The 
next moment he was at her side. 

‘ ‘ Do 3^011 have yourself announced ? 
What superfluous etiquette ! ” 

“ I heard that 3^011 would see no 
one ; and Franz told me the order 
was for all, without exception.” 

Arthur cast an angry glance .at the 
servant, who said apologetically, “I 
reall3" did not know what to do in this 
case. It is the flrst time her lad3’ship 
has come here.” 

The words contained an embar- 
rassed apolog3^, nothing more ; but 
Eugenie turned quickly awa3", and the 
excuse for this intrusion Tvhich was 
upon her lips remained unspoken. 
The man was right : his instructions 
did not suffice for so unusual a case 
as the appearance of her lad3’ship in 
his master’s apartments. This was 
the first time she had entered them. 
The3" had, as yet, alwa3’s met in the 
salon ^ the dining-hall, or reception- 
rooms. It was no wonder this visit 
was a surprise to the servant. 

Arthur motioned to the valet to 
withdraw, and invited his wife into 
the cabinet. She paused hesitatingl3" 
upon the threshold. 

“ I wished to speak with 3'OU,” she 
said in a low voice. 

“I am quite at 3’our command,” 
replied Arthur. 

He closed the door, and motioned 
Eugenie to take a seat. These few 
moment had sufficed to give back to 
the 3'ou . man all that self-posses- 
sion of ' ( r the last few weeks, 


I he had made such effectual use. 
Answer and question were as cool 
and formal as though he offered a 
civilit3^ to some stranger lad3" in a 
strange salon. 

“ Will you not take a seat? ” 

“ I thank 3’ou. I will not long de- 
tain 3^ou.” 

There was something timid and hes- 
itating in the j^oung woman’s manner, 
which peculiarly contrasted with her 
usual self-possessed bearing. Per- 
haps she felt strange in these rooms ; 
and perhaps, too, it was difficult for her 
to find words with which to begin. 
Arthur made no effort to place her at 
her ease. He saw how twice she 
sought to speak, and was not able ; 
but he sat at the opposite side of the 
writing-table, quietly waiting for her 
to begin. 

‘ ‘ My father has told me of his con- 
versation with 3^ou to-day and also of 
its result,” she said at length. 

‘ ‘ I expected this ; and it was on 
this very account — I beg 3’our par- 
don, Eugenie — that I was at first so 
surprised to see you here. I believed 
you busied in preparations for depart- 
ure.” 

The words might well cause Eu- 
genie to forget his emotion at her ap- 
13earance ; and they seemed to have 
this effect. Some moments passed 
before she answered, — 

“You have already announced my 
departure to the servants ? ” 

“Yes: I suppose I anticipated 
3^our wishes. In any event, I thought 
it better to have the order for prepa- 
ration given by me. You know the 
pretext we emplo3". Did you design 
conducting the affair in an3^ other 
manner? If so, I regret not having 
known 3’Our intention.” 

The tone was icy; and from it 
something like an icy breath seemed 
to float over to Eugenie. She invol- 
untaril3" started back. 

“ I have nothing to suggest to 3'ou. 
It onty sur^Di’ised me that the time of 
m3" departure once firml3" agreed upon 
should be hastened. You had the 
same reasons for holding fast to that 
decision as at first.” 

“I? It was 3’our wish, your de- 
mand, to which in this easel consent- 


94 


GOOD LUCK. 


ed. At least, Baron Windeg told me 
this was so.” 

Eugenie started. It seemed as if, 
with the deep sigh of relief that all at 
once rose from her breast, her tiraidi- 
t}’’ and hesitation had vanished, — as 
if, with that answer, all her courage 
had returned. 

“ I suspected this. father has 
gone too far, Arthur : he has spoken 
in m3" name, when he onty expressed 
his own wishes. I am come to ex- 
plain this misunderstanding, and to 
tell 3'ou that I will not go, at least 
not until I hear from 3wr lips that 
3"ou demand it.” 

Eugenie had fixed her glance firml}’, 
but in anxious, breathless expectation 
upon Arthur’s face, as if she must 
and would read his e3’es ; but the e3’es 
remained veiled, and her words seemed 
not to have the slightest effect. She 
thought that a quiver passed over his 
features as she explained the misun- 
derstanding ; but perhaps she had 
only imagined this, for the emotion, 
if there was an}", went as quickl}" as it 
came. The face remained unchanged ; 
and the voice retained its ic}" tone, as, 
after a momentary pause, he an- 
swered, — 

“You will not go ? And why not ? ” 

The 3’oung wife, with the fullest de- 
cision, rose and stood before her 
husband. “ You 3'ourself told me 3’es- 
terda}^, that, in the struggle before 3"ou, 
}"Our existence was at stake. Since 
3’our last meeting with Hartmann, I 
have known that the battle must be 
fought out to the bitter end, and that 
3"our position is . far more dangerous 
than 3"ou will admit to me. I cannot 
and will not leave 3"ou in such a mo- 
ment : that would be cowardice, and” — 

“You are very magnanimous,” in- 
terrupted Arthur ; and now behind 
the coldness of his tone la}’ a bitter- 
ness he could not conceal. “ But, in 
order to practise magnanimity, you 
must find some one who will accept it, 
and I will not accept yours.” 

Eugenie’s hand, as if in repressed 
anger, grasped at the velvet cushioned 
arm of the chair. “You will not?” 

“Ab.^ The plan emanated from 
your father: let it stand! He has 
doubtless a right to provide for the 


protection and security of his daugh- 
ter, who will shortly belong to him — 
from the barbarities and excesses 
which may soon happen here. I give 
him full power in this matter, and 
agree to-morrow’s separation.” 

The young wife energetically threw 
back her blonde head. “ And I con- 
sent only so long as I consider it your 
wish. I will not yield in this matter 
to the dictation of my father. I have 
taken upon myself the obligations of 
your wife, at least before the world ; 
and before the world I will carry 
them out. They command me not 
to basely desert you in the hour 
of danger, but to remain at your 
side until the catastrophe is past, 
and the time of our separation origi- 
nally agreed upon has arrived. Then 
I will go, but not before.” 

“Not even if I imperatively de- 
mand it of you ? ” 

“ Arthur ! ” 

He stood with half- averted face, 
one hand nervously crumpling a paper 
from his writing-table, which he had 
seized mechanically. The self-con- 
trol so painfully summoned could no 
longer face this glance and tone. 

‘ ‘ I have told you once already to 
play no magnanimous roles with me,” 
he said bitterly. ‘ ‘ They cannot move 
me. Duties! A wife who of her own 
free-will gives a man her hand and 
heart may well deem it her duty to 
remain by her husband in danger, to 
share his misfortune, perhaps his ruin, 
as she has shared his happiness. This 
certainly is not your case. We have 
no duties to each other, because we 
have had no right in each other. The 
only solace I could offer you in this en- 
forced marriage was the possibility of 
its dissolution : it has been dissolved 
since that moment when we agreed to 
a divorce. That is my answer to your 
proposition.” 

Eugenie’s dark eyes still remained 
steadily fixed upon Arthur’s face. 
That fervid, treacherous gleam from 
his eyes, which once had seemed to 
unveil an unknown depth to her, did 
not come to-day, when at any price 
she would have compelled it forth. 
He did not grant her the triumph of 
again seeing or suspec^’ng that which 


GOOD LUCK. 


95 


alone could have induced this proud 
woman to come to him with such a 
profier : he remained full}^ master of 
himself, and she was left in torturing 
doubt. 

Yesterday, upon that wooded height, 
when the flaming glance of Ulrich 
Hartmann rested upon her face, the 
woman’s instinct had plainl}^ and une- 
quivocally told her what lay behind 
that glance ; and with that conscious- 
ness a sudden terror had come over 
her. There she had remained cool 
in the midst of the danger with which 
an insane passion threatened her ; 
here, where there was nothing to fear, 
she trembled in feverish excitement, 
and for that very reason all those 
brown eyes had revealed to her up 
onder was now veiled ; for that 
reason the inner voice was silent in 
regard to that she would have given 
her life to know with certainty. 

“You should not make remaining 
so difficult for me,” she said, in a 
voice that betrajxd the torturing sus- 
pense of her soul. She wavered be- 
tween unbending pride and weak 
submission. “ You know, Arthur, the 
struggle it must have cost me to come 
to 3*ou : will 3’ou not consider it ? ” 

The words sounded almost like an 
entreat}' , but Arthur could not in his 
present mood understand this. The 
wild resentment, the fearful excite- 
ment, which surged through his whole 
being, even here biassed and controlled 
his better judgment, as he cutting!}^ 
replied, — 

“I do not doubt that the Baroness 
Windeg makes an incalculable sacri- 
fice, in deciding for three months 
longer to bear my plebeian name, and 
to remain b}" the side of a man she so 
thoroughly despises, even though he 
offers her immediate freedom. I was 
once compelled to hear how terrible 
both were to her, and can therefore 
estimate what this self-sacrifice costs.” 

“ You taunt me with the conversa- 
tion upon the evening of our arrival 
here,” said Eugenie in a low voice. 
“I — I had forgotten it.” 

Now, at last, Arthur’s ej^es flashed ; 
but the light for which she had sought 
and was not there. A strange, 

hosti N ssion glean^ed from them. 


\ 

“Have 3’ou really? , You do not 
ask whether I have forgotten it? I 
was obliged at that time to listen to 
your words ; but they went to the 
utmost limit of what I could bear. 
Do 3'ou think that a man would with 
impunit}" allow a woman to tread him 
in the dust as I was trodden that 
evening, and then permit her to lift 
him up again, if it happened to please 
her to change her mind? I am not 
quite the miserable weakling j’ou 
deemed me. From that hour I ceased 
to be so. That hour decided ' my 
character ; but it also decided oitr 
future. As for what threatens me, 
and may threaten me, I will bear it 
alone. I have learned a great deal 
in these last weeks. I shall cany 
through this contest ; but ” — here he 
rose, and, glowing with pride and 
resentment, stood before her — “but 
the woman who on our marriage-daj’, 
with such annihilating scorn, thrust 
me from her, not even asking if the 
husband to whom she had just given 
her hand was reall}' so guilt}’ as she 
believed him ; who took my assertion, 
made upon my word of honor, that I 
had known nothing of my father’s 
share in that marriage transaction, as 
the subterfuge of a liar ; who, in 
reply to my question whether she did 
not deem it vrorth her while to attempt 
the reformation of such a reprobate 
as I, flung forth a disdainful Ab, — 
this woman I will not have at my side 
when I fight out the battle for my 
future, — I will be alone ! ” 

He turned impetuously away. Eu- 
genie stood there silent, confounded. 
Greatly as her husband’s character 
had changed of late, she had never 
before seen him in a passion ; and 
now he was terribly angiy, — angry 
to a degree that frightened her. iSy 
this storm now raging against her, 
she could judge what that evening 
had lain concealed behind the outward 
indifference which had so roused her 
indignation, — what for months long 
had fumed within him, until it had 
at last wrested him from the apathy 
which had become his second nature. 

Ah, yes ! That cold, disdainful 
No. She best knew the wrong that 
by its utterance she had done him ; 


96 


GOOD LUCK. 


and now, when she saw how deepty 
it had wounded him, she felt that this 
hour might perhaps have cancelled 
all the wrong each had done the 
other, had it not been for that unfor- 
tunate last word. 

This touched the 5mung wife’s 
pride ; and, where her pride was con- 
cerned, all was over with her judg- 
ment and prudence, even though she 
knew herself in the wrong. 

“ You will stand alone ! ” repeated 
she. “Well, then, I will not obtrude 
m3^self upon you. I came to con- 
vince myself whether m3" father’s plan 
was 3’’ours also. I see that it is so, — 
and I will leave 3"Ou.” 

She turned to go. At the door 
she paused suddenly : it seemed to 
her, at the moment when her hand 
was upon the latch, as if he started 
up, as if he made a motion to rush 
after her ; but this must have been 
an illusion, for, when she turned 
around, Arthur still sat at his writing- 
table. He was certainly deathty pale ; 
but in his bearing, on every feature, 
stood written the word with which 
she had once thrust him from her, — 
a bitter, unrelenting No. 

Eugenie summoned up her last re- 
maining courage for an adieu. 

“We shall meet to-morrow only in 
m3^ father’s presence ; and then, per- 
haps, never again. So, — farewell, 
Arthur ! ” 

‘ ‘ Farewell ! ” he said in a hollow 
voice. 

The door closed behind her: she 
had vanished. This last interview 
had been unavailing : the last bridge 
to reconciliation was broken down. 
The obstinacy of neither would 3"ield ; 
neither would speak the word which 
would reconcile all, even had it been 
tenfold worse. Pride alone spoke, 
and thus was her decision spoken. 

Gra3" and cloud3" came the next 
morning over the mountains ; but at 
an unwonted hour all was in commo- 
tion at the Berkow house. The trav- 
ellers must depart earl3’', so as to be 
in time at the station, and reach the 
Residence that evening. Curt von 
Windeg was first in the salon; the 
baron still rem^ained in his chamber, 
and Eugenie had not as yet made her 


appearance. The 3"Oung officer seemed 
to wait for something or other with 
an impatience he could not conceal. 
He had alread3" paced up and down 
the room several times, stood on the 
balcon3^, and then thrown himself 
down in a fauteuil^ from which he 
now sprang up hastily as Arthur en- 
tered. 

“ Ah ! 3’'ou here already?” he said, 
greeting his 3"oung brother-in-law 
with that chilling politeness which 
was usual between them. 

Curt ran excited^ to meet him. 
“ I would like to have a few words 
with 3"ou alone,” he said ; “ but good 
Heavens ! what is the matter with 
you ? Are 3"ou ill ? ” 

“ I ? ” answered Arthur calmly. 
“What are 3^011 thinking of? I am 
quite well.” 

“Indeed!” returned Curt, with a 
glance upon the pale, careworn, mel- 
ancholy face of his brother-in-law. 
“I should have supposed the con- 
trar3’.” 

‘ ‘ I am not accustomed to this early 
rising,” said Arthur somewhat impa- 
tientl3" : “it alwa3"s makes one look 
weary. I fear 3"ou will have an un- 
pleasant journe3" to-da3". It is a hor- 
ribl3" cloud3^ morning.” 

He stepped to the window as if to 
take an observation of the weather ; 
but, in truth, it was 01113^ to withdraw 
from Curt’s anno3ung scrutin3' of his 
face. But Curt would not let him 
escape so easil3^ He stepped close 
to his side. 

“ I wanted to be first here,” began 
he a little hesitatingl3", ‘ ‘ because I 
sought a private interview with 3"ou, 
Arthur.” 

The individual addressed turned 
around, as much surprised at this 
request as at the manner of the ad- 
dress. During the whole period of 
their relationship. Curt had scarce 
once called him b3^ his baptismal 
name. He usuall3" followed his fath- 
er’s example, and emplo3*ed the stiff 
Herr Berkow.” 

“ Well? ” asked Arthur kindly. 

A sort of timidity and embarrass- 
ment for the moment struggled in 
the young officer’s features but all 
at once he raided his hards- . e, open 


GOOD LUCK. 


97 


face to his brother-in-law, and said 
frankl}^, — 

“We have done yon wrong, Ar- 
thur, and I perhaps most of all. I 
was enraged at the compulsion em- 
ployed with us, and, — let me candidly 
confess it to you, — I have had a 
downright hatred for j^ou from the 
moment you became my brother-in- 
law. Yesterday I learned that we 
had erred in regard to you, and then 
the hatred was all over. I am sorry, 
ver}^ sorry for it all ; and this, — this 
was w^hat I wished to say to 3’ou. 
Will 3'OU accept my apologj^, Ar- 
thur ? ” 

Warmly and cordially he held out 
his hand, and Arthur grasped it. 

“I thank j^ou, Curt,” he simply 
said. 

“ God be thanked, this is over ! It 
has kept me awake all night long,” 
exclaimed Curt. “ And, believe me, 
m3" father now does 3"ou justice. It 
is true, he will not confess his thoughts 
to 3"ou ; but I know what they are.” 

A smile flitted over Berko w’s face, 
but neither his e3"es nor forehead 
brightened : heavy shadows still lay 
upon both as he calmly answered, “I 
am glad of it. So we separate, at 
least, not as enemies.” 

“And as for the separation,” in- 
terrupted Curt hastil3", ‘ ‘ papa is still 
up in his chamber, and Eugenie must 
be for the moment quite alone in 
hers : will 3"ou not speak with her ? ” 

‘ ‘ And w^h3" ? ” asked Arthur in sur- 
prise. “ The baron may an3" moment 
appear, and Eugenie would hardl3" ” — 

“ I wdll place myself before the 
door, and let no one in, ” interrupted 
Curt eagerly. “ I shall know how to 
keep papa outside until 3^ou are ready 
to see him.” 

A quick flush passed over Arthur’s 
face as he met the intent, searching 
glance of his brother-in-law. But he 
gravel3" shook his head. 

“ No, Curt, that is unnecessary. I, 
yesterda3" evening, once again and 
finally, spoke with 3"our sister.” 

“ And about the departure? ” 

“Yes, about the departure.” 

The young officer looked somewhat 
disappointed; but no time remained 
to him for further propositions. Out- 


side the baron’s step was already 
heard, and he immediately after en- 
tered. Curt, with a half-angry ges- 
ture, withdrew more into the back- 
ground of the room, muttering to 
himself, “ And 3"et the thing is not 
right.” 

The unavoidable interview during 
breakfast was over. The precise for- 
mality of the baron, and the constant 
presence of a servant, had helped all 
through with it ; and now the carriage 
drove up before the terrace. The 
gentlemen put on their overcoats, 
Eugenie’s waiting-maid brought her 
mistress’s hat and shawl, Arthur 
offered his w"ife his arm to conduct 
her down. The appearance of a per- 
fect understanding should be pre- 
served to the last moment. 

Gray and cloudy the morning had 
come over the mountains ; gray and 
cloudy it now descended into the 
valleys ; before the window-s ebbed 
and flowed a sea of fog ; and within, 
the cold, frosty morning-light that 
already filled the rooms gave them a 
weird, desolate appearance. It seemed 
as if the costly splendor of their 
adorning had all at once lost glow 
and color, — as if they had become 
empty, wholly empt3^, now that the 
3"oung mistress was about to leave 
them, never to return. 

Curt remarked silentl3" that his 
sister had the same sad, weaiy look 
which had just now so startled him in 
Arthur’s face ; but otherwise he could 
not discover any thing unusual in the 
appearance of either. They knew 
how to carry out the role the3^ had 
undertaken, even though their fea- 
tures betra3"ed that it had cost them 
sleepless nights ; and perhaps this 
dumb, cold self-possession was no 
role at all. When the storm has 
raved itself out, then follows that 
calm which so often in life helps us 
over the bitterest, - over the most 
dreaded events with comparative ease, 
because, as it were, a veil lies over 
the soul, shutting out a clear ' con- 
sciousness of the decisive moment; 
because all the earlier struggles and 
wrestlings subside into a dumb, hol- 
low misery, through which only now 
and then darts a sharp, stifling thrill 


98 


GOOD LUCK. 


of agony, by which alone we are 
aware of how much we have reall}' 
suffered. 

Leaning on her husband’s arm, 
Eugenie descended the stairs, without 
reall}^ being conscious wdiere she went 
or how. As in a dream, she saw the 
carpeted steps against vdiich her dress 
rustled, the tall oleander trees which 
adorned the vestibule, the faces of 
the servants who made a parting bow 
to her ladyship, — all this glided dim 
and shadowy past her. Then sud- 
denly something sharp and almost 
painful touched her forehead. It wms 
the cold morning air. She gazed out 
into it ; and before her she saw the 
carriage which was to bear her away, 
— it alone. Then terrace, flower- 
garden, park, and fountains all van- 
ished in the twilight and the swaying 
fog. 

Yet once again the ej^es of the hus- 
band and wife met ; but they said 
nothing to each other. The veil lay 
thick and heav}^ between them also. 
Then the 3 ’oung wife felt a hand 
moist and icy-cold lying within her 
own, and heard some seemingl}" po- 
lite, distant ^3 aiding w^ords which she 
did not understand: but it was Ar- 
thur’s voice which spoke to her ; and 
Vvith this consciousness, again a sharp, 
stifling pang darted through the hol- 
low dream. Then came the stamping 
of hoofs and the rolling of wheels ; 
and forward they went into the gra}^ 
fog that ebbed and surged around 
them, as at that time when the sepa- 
ration had been decided, — upon the 
W’ooded height in that hour of spring ; 
and what there separates is sepa- 
rated for all eternit}’. 


XV. 

‘ ‘ I TELL 3"ou,” said the chief engineer 
to the director, as they were w’alking 
home together, “that things are get- 
ting serious. Hartmann seems to 
have given the signal for insurrection. 
The miners really defy us, and insults 
are the order of the day. Our men 
have stirred up the whole province to 
rebel. All the other works are in 


commotion : we only had the honor 
of beginning. All this is water to 
Hartmann’s mill. He carries his head 
higher than ever.” 

‘ " Herr Berkow seems to compre- 
hend all,” returned the director. 
‘ ‘ He has already sent her ladyship to 
a place of safety. That proceeding 
best proves what he fears from his 
miners.” 

“From the miners, pshaw!” ex- 
claimed the chief engineer. “We 
might already have arranged matters 
with them if it had not been for one ; 
but, so long as he commands, peace 
and quiet are not to be thought of. 
Only let Hartmann be a week absent 
from the works, and I would vouch 
for the balance.” 

“ I have already thought of that,” 
said the director, looking circum- 
spectly around him, and then lower- 
ing his voice, — “I have alread}^ 
thought of that, and whether we 
could not make use of the suspicion 
against him, which e\ery one here 
entertains, and with which I believe 
no one does him wrong. What think 
3"ou of that ? ” 

“That would not answer. We 
have suspicions enough, but wLere 
are the proofs? Nothing could be 
found wrong about the machine and 
the ropes, only that the rope had just 
broken ; and the gentlemen of the law 
have searched thoroughl}- enough into 
the matter. How it came, and what 
happened dowm there, Hartmann alone 
knows, and he can equal anj^ man in 
Ijdng. If arrested, thc}^ would have 
to let him go free without result.” 

“ But a law-trial would for a time 
make him harmless. If w^e accuse 
him, there would be some weeks’ im- 
prisonment.” 

The chief engineer frowned. — 
“ Would you take upon j^ourself the 
responsibility of the fniy of our 
miners, if we imprison their leader? 
I would not. The}^ would stoiin our 
houses if they saw through the man- 
oeuvre, as they certainl}^ would.” 

“ That is questionable. They do 
not feel the old love for him.” 

“ But thej^ do the old fear. With 
that, he rules them more despot d^y 
than ever ; and then you do om' A 


GOOD LUCK. 


99 


lings wi’ong if you believe they would 
desert their leader upon a bare sus- 
picion. They may stand in awe of 
him, they may become estranged 
from him in time ; but the moment 
W'e lay hands upon him they will rall}^ 
around him, and protect him from 
every danger. No, no ! that will not 
do. What we would above all shun 
— a bloody conflict — would then be 
inevitable ; and, besides, I am con- 
vinced that Herr Berkow would not 
lend his hand to this.” 

“ But does he still dream nothing 
of the suspicion ? ” asked the direc- 
tor. 

“No. Naturally no one ventures 
to give him a hint of it, and I believe 
we had best spare him this for the 
present. ^ He has already enough to 
bear.” 

“ Ah, yes, more than enough ; and 
the bad news of last week, and Herr 
Schaffer’s letters from the Residence, 
seem not to remain without effect. I 
believe he seriously thinks of yield- 
ing.” 

“ Oh, no ! not at all ; ” returned the 
chief engineer excitedly : “it is now 
too late for that. After the answer 
he gave the workmen, when thej^ 
offered him the choice of risking his 
fortune, or of taking upon himself 
whatever discipline Herr Hartmann 
might choose to inflict, — after the 
manner in which he met them, — there 
can be no more talk of yielding. If 
Berkow does not remain firm, every 
vestige of his authority is gone. He 
must go forward ; and to be obliged 
to go forward is always an advantage 
in a fight.” 

‘ ‘ But if his fortune is at stake ! ” 

“ Say, rather, if it is his honor 
which is at stake.” 

Both gentlemen fell into a heated 
and fruitless debate, whose result, as 
usual, was, that each stood by his 
own opinion. ^ They soon separated ; 
and, as the chief engineer entered his 
house, he growled after his colleague, 
“ A veiy beautiful thing, this neutral- 
ity; always prettily anxious, always 
prettily cautious not to commit one’s 
self with either party, because one 
can never know which is going to tri- 
umph. I wish that all the cowards — 


Wilberg, what the deuce are you say- 
ing there to my daughter ? ” 

The two 3^oung people, whom this 
question concerned, shrank in fright 
from each other as if they had been 
detected in a crime, although, in 
reality, it was onl}" a harmless kiss of 
Melanie’s hand in which Herr Wil- 
berg had indulged. But he looked, 
meanwhile, so sentimental, and Mela- 
nie, on her side, so susceptible, that 
the father, already" vexed and enraged 
at his late conversation with the 
director, came storming between them 
like a hurricane. 

“ I most emphaticall}^ beg your 
pardon,” stammered the 3’oung officer ; 
while Fraulein Melanie, knowing that 
a kissing of the hand could under no 
circumstances be so bad a thing, 
looked on very saucily. 

“ I most emphatically beg for an 
explanation,” cried the chief engineer 
angril3\ “ What business have 
down here in the vestibule ? Why do 
3'ou not go up to the reception-room 
as 3*ou ought to ? ” 

The explanation demanded could 
not be given in a word, although the 
young people were innocent enough in 
this meeting. Wilberg had come to 
the house of his superior officer with 
a message from Herr Berkow in his 
head, and deep melanchol3’ in his 
heart. The latter naturally arose 
from the departure of her lad3’ship. 
He had known of this the evening 
before, but happil3^ he had slept 
through the eventful morning. The 
young officer was no early riser : he 
had never been guilty of the folly of 
exposing himself to the cold, foggy 
morning air, which might have given 
him the rheumatism. It had not 
been he who in the gray dawn stood 
under the firs there, where the high- 
way wound into the forest, patient- 
ly waiting, in spite of fog and cold, 
for the sake of the one minute in 
which the coach would roll past, — for 
the sake of the one glance he might 
cast there, seeking the face he was 
not to find, — the face which with 
closed eyes lay buried in the 
cushions. 

When that other, returning nome, 
went past his windows, and entered 


100 


GOOD LUCK. 


the overseer’s house, Herr Wilberg 
slept on in undisturbed repose ; but 
this did not prevent his finding him- 
self infinitely unhappy on awaking, 
and, for the whole week through, car- 
rying about with him so melancholy 
a face that Fraiilein Melanie, who by 
chance had met him in the vestibule, 
could not help sympathetically asking 
him what was the matter. 

The young poet was just in that 
mood to pour forth his sorrow into 
the ear of tftiy sj^mpathetic being : he 
therefore sighed several times, made 
several efforts to speak, and at last 
unburdened his whole heart, naturally 
to receive in return the deepest S3’m- 
path3\ If the young lady had before 
been inquisitive, she wms now affected 
beyond all measure. She thought 
this affair highly romantic, and poor 
Wilberg w’orth}' of her deepest com- 
miseration. She therefore took it as 
quite a matter of course, w'hen, at the 
end of all these outpoui'ings and con- 
solings, Wilberg seized Ijer hand to 
imprint upon it a grateful kiss ; there 
was certainl3’ not the slightest danger 
that he loved any other than her ladj^- 
ship. 

Into this poetic scene the chief 
engineer now intruded with all the 
prose of his parental authoritj^ and 
demanded to know why this over- 
powering of the heart had taken place 
below here in the vestibule, rather than 
up in the reception-room, w^here the 
presence of Melanie’s mamma would 
certainly have laid some restraint 
upon it. 

Herr Wilberg, conscious of the 
great wrong here done him, sum- 
moned all his self-possession. “ I 
have a message from Herr Berkow,” 
he said in an explanatoiy tone. 

“Ah, indeed! Your errand is 
different from wdiat I supposed. Go 
up stairs, Melanie ! You hear, do 
3’ou not, that w'e have business-mat- 
ters to attend to ? ” 

Melanie obeyed ; and her father 
stood at the foot of the stairs, without, 
as usual, inviting the 3’oung officer 
into his dwelling, so that he was 
obliged to deliver his message here. 

“Very well,” said the chief en- 
gineer calmly. “ The drawings in 


question stand at Herr Berkow’s dis- 
posal. I will mj’self take them to 
him. And now a word to 3’ou, Wil- 
berg. I have, in spite of a mutual 
antipathy, alwa3’s done 3’ou justice.” 
Herr Wilberg bowed. ‘ ‘ I regard 3’ou 
as an especiall3’ honorable officer,” — 
Herr Wilberg bowled a second time, 
— “but also as somewhat crack- 
brained.” 

The 3^oung man, who was about to 
bow a third time, started, and quite 
beside himself stared at his superior, 
who w ith imperturbable calmness of 
soul, w ent on ; — 

“ Now, as to 3^our mania for poet- 
izing — It has not embraced me, 3'ou 
think? Well, I should hope not. 
You have, one after the other, sung 
Hartmann, her lad3’ship, and Herr 
Berkow. You can go on with this 
sort of thing if it gives 3'ou pleasure ; 
but never let it occur to 3’ou to sing 
my Melanie. That I positivel3* for- 
bid. I will not have 'such nonsense 
put into the child’s head. If 3'ou are 
reall3' in .need of a new object for 
3’our poetic outpourings, take me or 
the director. We stand at your ser- 
vice.” 

“ I think I must decline 3’our kind 
offer,” said Wilberg, much piqued. 

“As you. please; but mark this: 
m3" daughter remains out of the 
game. If on any da3" a poem ‘ To 
Melanie ’ happens to fall into my 
hands, I shall make rough w'ork with 
3’our iambuses and Alexandrines, or 
whatever the stuff is called. This is 
wdiat I wished to say to 3’ou. Good- 
night 1 ” 

With these words the reckless su- 
perior officer took leave of our poet, . — 
who had been w"ounded in his holiest 
feelings, — and went up stairs. His 
daughter came to meet him. 

“ O papa I ” she said, “ how can 3’ou 
be so cruel and unjust to poor Wil- 
berg ? He is so unhapp3".” 

The chief engineer laughed aloud. 
‘ ‘ U nhappy ? — He ? — A most un- 
happ3" poet he is : those are horrible 
verses he strings together ; but the 
more 3"ou seek to make this compre- 
hensible to him, the more insanely 
he goes rh3"ming on. And then as 
for that kissing your hand ” — “ Good 


GOOD LUCK. 


101 


heavens, papa ! you are wholly and 
entirely in error,” interrupted Melanie 
most decidedly. “ It was only grati- 
tude. He loves her ladj^ship, has 
loved her from the first moment he 
saw her, — hopelessly, of course, as 
she is already married ; but we can 
well understand that this makes him 
melancholy, and that her departure 
has quite thrown him into despair.” 

“ And so, solely on account of this 
melancholy and despair, he kissed 
your hand ? How strange ! And be- 
sides, how do 3^011 know all this, Me- 
lanie? You seem in some extraordi- 
narj" manner to have been initiated 
into the heart-histories of this blonde 
sheep.” 

The 3’oung lad}^ lifted her head with 
a satisfaction she could not conceal. 
“ I am his confidante^ papa,” she 
said. “ He has unburdened his whole 
heart to me. I would have consoled 
him, but he can accept no consola- 
tion : he is too unhapp3^” 

‘ \This is precious nonsense ! ” broke 
out the chief engineer angril3^ ‘ ‘ And 
so 3' ou have alread3" got to confidences 
and outpourings of the heart, have 
you ? I had not thought Wilberg so 
politic. An3" one who begins to spec- 
ulate upon the S 3 ^mpathies of 3 ^ou 
■women — but we will make an end of 
this aflfair in season. You will here- 
after receive no such improper con- 
fidences, Melanie ; and now, once and 
forever, I forbid all this consolatoiy 
nonsense. And first of all, I will 
take care that he does not enter the 
house again. You may rel3" upon 
that ! ” 

Melanie turned pouting awa3^ Her 
father showed no great knowledge of 
liuman nature, if he really believed 
that, with this dictatorial fiat, he could 
exorcise the demon which had all at 
once loomed up before him in the 
form of a poetizing and guitar-pla3ung 
son-in-law. He ought to have known 
that Melanie would now in sober 
earnest take upon herself the task of 
consolhig this poor, sorely-misunder- 
stood Wilberg, whenever and wher- 
ever occasion should offer ; and that 
Herr Wilberg would that very evening 
sit down to compose a poem, “ To 
MC'^^nie.” Such things cannot be 


stopped by an3^body’s, “ Come now, I 
won’t have that ! ” 

The day neared its close. In set- 
ting, the sun 3"et once more broke 
through the enveloping clouds, light- 
ing up wood and mountain with a 
bright, transient splendor only a 
few minutes ; then the red ball of fire 
sank slowl3^ down the horizon ; and 
with it vanished the departing gloiy, 
the evanescent hues, for one fieetiiig 
moment lent to the earth. 

Arthur Berkow had just opened the 
gate at the end of the park, and w^as 
about to pass out, when he paused 
involuntaril3q and spell-bound gazed 
at the departing luminary. His face 
now wore an expression of the fullest 
repose ; but it was a repose won by 
bitter conflict, not that calmness 
into which a man uplifts himself -when 
he casts from him a -weakness vic- 
toriously overcome, in order to enter 
a new path. If one remains behind 
alone upon the sinking ship, and in 
the distance sees the boat vanish 
which bears his best goods and treas- 
ures to some secure haven, while 
the ship itself incessantl3’* nears the 
cliff against which it must be dashed 
in pieces, — then, indeed, the man’s 
courage ma3" not falter, but he is no 
longer jo3’ful. When the last hope 
has vanished, then comes the calm 
determination w^hich is prepared and 
ready to brave all. This now lay 
upon Arthur’s face. The dream was 
dreamed out, and the immediate 
future emphaticall3^ demanded a full, 
perfect awakening. 

He walked over. the meadow, taking 
the path leading to the house of his 
superior officer. The broad trench 
l3ing along the upper side of the park 
crossed the meadow at this place ; but 
while a tasteful bridge there marked 
the passage, here was only a plank, 
strong and safe, but so narrow that 
onty one could go over it at a time. 
Arthur stepped hastity upon the plank, 
without remarking that another was 
coming over from the opposite side. 
He had alread3" taken several steps, 
when he all at once stood before 
Ulrich Hartmann, who also seemed 
not to have perceived him until this 


102 


GOOD LUCK. 


moment. The young chief paused, 
supposing of course that his under- 
steiger would step back and let him 
pass. But Ulrich must always be 
provoking as possible. Whether he 
really sought a conflict, or only obeyed 
the impulse of his own obstinate 
nature, matters not ; there he stood 
immovable, and gave no sign of turn- 
ing back. 

“Well Hartmann, are we to remain 
standing here ? ” asked Arthur calmlj", 
after he had for some moments waited 
in vain. “ The board is too narrow 
for two ; one must go back.” 

‘ ‘ Must I be the one ? ” asked Ulrich 
shaiy)l3^ 

“ 1 certainly thought so.” 

Hartmann seemed to have a* de- 
fiant answer upon his lips, but all at 
once he bethought himself. ‘ ‘ Ah, 
3'es ; 3’ou are upon 3'our own soil. I 
had forgotten that.” 

He stepped back, and let Berkow 
pass ; but when the chief reached the 
other side he paused. 

“ Hartmann ! ” 

The man addressed, wdio was just 
stepping' upon the plank, now turned 
around. 

‘ ‘ I should have had 3’ou summoned 
to-day, had I not feared giving rea- 
sons for misconception. But as we 
happen to meet here, I Tvould like to 
speak with you.” 

A gknce of triumph shot over 
Ulrich’s face. Then his features re- 
sumed their usual reticent expression.* 

“ Here, upon the meadow?” 

“The place is indifferent, and we 
are here alone.” 

Ulrich slowly advanced nearer, and 
stationed himself opposite his chief, 
who leaned against one of the willows 
which bordered the edge of the trench. 
The night fog began to ascend from 
the meadow, but the forest up 3’onder, 
where the sun had set, w^as still illu- 
mined by the twilight glow. 

There was a strange contrast be- 
tween these two, — the slender, almost 
delicate figure of the young aristocrat ; 
the pale face full of a quiet repose, 
with the large, thoughtful e^^es, from 
which now had vanished that light 
which could give them a spell almost 
of fabulous enchantment; and the 


giant form of the w'orkman, wdth the 
haughtil}' -poised blonde head, the face 
iron, like his muscles and sinews, and 
the fieiy glance which with a sort of 
wild satisfaction sought to pierce the 
pale features of his rival, as if he sus- 
pected what lay behind them. 

The instinct of jealousy had taught 
Ulrich to see and to understand where 
no one else saw an}" thing ; and if the 
w"hole world had declared that Arthur 
Berkow was cold and distant to his 
beautiful wife ; that he had never 
felt the least affection for her, — Ulrich 
knew that a man who called a being 
like Eugenie TVindeg his own could not 
be indifferent to her. Since that morn- 
ing when he had stood under the firs 
and gazed after the receding coach, 
he had known what it means to lose 
such a being. 

But, in the midst of this agony of 
separation, a proud triumph entered 
his soul. A wife who loves her hus- 
band does not leave him when all 
wavers and dissolves around him ; and 
she had- gone from him, — had gone 
under the j^rotection of her father and 
brother, leaving him back alone, re- 
signing him a prey to all. This it 
was w"hich had stricken the proud Ber- 
kow, who was not to be crushed by 
hatred and threats, by the fear of 
violence and insurrection, by ruin 
itself. And even though with this 
calm forehead he deceived all others, he 
could not deceive his enemy. ^ The 
blow had gone to his heart. 

‘ ‘ I need not tell you w hat has hap- 
pened of late,” began Arthur: “ you 
are just as w"ell, even better informed, 
than I. The other works have fol- 
low"ed your example : to all appear- 
ance, w"e are on the eve of a long 
conflict. Are you sure of your com- 
rades ? ” 

Ulrich w"as startled at the Igst 
question. “What do you mean 'by 
that, Herr Berkow? ” 

“ I was thinking whether w"e could 
manage things down here without out- 
side assistance. It seems they cannot 
at the other minqs. From the forges, 
they have already called upon the 
State for help. You certainly know 
all about the outbreak there, and can 
judge whether such help is necessary. 


GOOD LUCK. 


103 


I shall not resort to such means, unless 
in the most extreme case ; but such a 
case may occur. Already several of 
my officers have been insulted ; and 
that crowd of your men I met the 
other day in the forest were on the 
point of insulting me. Make no cal- 
culations upon my patience or my 
weakness. Much as I wish to avoid 
extreme measures, I will meet violence 
with violence.” 

At the chiefs first words, Ulrich 
had glanced up in sullen astonishment. 
He had expected something far other 
than such a declaration ; but the calm- 
ness with which it was made robbed 
it of all its defiance, and compelled 
even the rival to moderation. There 
was still a slight touch of iron}’’ in his 
voice as he replied, — 

“ That is nothing new to me. Vio- 
lence against violence ! I knew from 
the first that some day it would come 
to this.” 

“ And which bears the blame if it 
comes to this, — the resistance of the 
many, or the obstinac}^ of a single 
man?” asked Arthur, looking him 
steadily in the face. 

“ The obstinacy of a single man! 
Quite right, Herr Berkow. You know 
that at the cost of a single word from 
you, your works would all be in activity" 
to-morrow.” 

‘ ‘ And you know that I cannot speak 
this word, because it involves an im- 
possibility. It is 3’our duty to yield. 
I pledge you my honor to do all I 
have promised.” 

‘‘Really’?” cried the 3wng miner, 
this time with a new outbreak of de- 
rision. “Is it because the whole 
province is in rebellion, and we have a 
guard and a support in our comrades ? ” 

Berkow, with a sudden movement, 
drew himself up to his full height, and 
his e3^es flashed. “It is because we 
shall compel 3’ou by arms to respect 
that order which 3’ou now seek to tread 
under 3’our feet, and because I would 
spare this result to my workmen. 
Have done with this iron3^, Hartmann, 
in which 3^011 yourself do not believe. 
Whatever has happened between us, 
or may happen, I think we may each 
exculpate the other from the charge 
of cow'ardice.” 


There was again that same tone and 
glance as in the conference-chamber. 
Ulrich, with mingled rage and admi- 
ration, gazed upon the 3'oung chief 
who in such an hour dared thus speak 
to him ; when, from the scene in the 
forest, he must know what was to be 
feared from such a meeting. His 
words proved that he did know this 
perfectly ; and yet he had to-day, of 
his own free will, sought this inter- 
view. 

The park was quite deserted : no 
human being was to be seen upon the 
meadow, and the houses la3^ far dis- 
tant. None of the officers would have 
ventured upon a solitary meeting with 
Hartmann, — not even the bold engi- 
neer ; only the once despised w'eakling 
dared this. Ah, 3^es ! from the reproach 
of cowardice, his rival had long since 
absolved him. 

Arthur seemed to feel the impres- 
sion he had made. He drew a step 
nearer. 

“And do 3’ou not see, Hartmann, 
that by this behavior 3*011 are ruining 
3*our future ? ” he asked gravely. 
“You think, perhaps, b3* this last 
movement of 3*our comrades to make 
an impression upon me. I allow m3*- 
self to be influenced b3" no effort at 
compulsion ; rely upon that : but I 
respect in 3*ou powerful though mis- 
guided abilities. The3" have hitherto 
been emplo3"ed only to .^m3" injur3* ; 
and 3’et, through all, I have seen what 
the3^ could accomplish if not turned 
against me. Give ear now to the 
voice of reason ; content yourself with 
the attainment of possibilities, and I 
gladly offer 3*ou libert3* to remain upon 
my works, and a free road to advance- 
ment. I know wdiat I risk in this, in 
retaining an element like 3*011 among 
my workmen ; but I will risk it, if my 
confidence can have a like return.” 

Such a proffer to a man wont to 
consider all concession as weakness 
was, indeed, venturesome enough ; but 
Berkow seemed not to have reckoned 
upon this. Ulrich did not answer ; he 
showed no signs of compliance ; but, 
for a nature like his, it was a great 
concession not to immediatel3^ rei>el 
the offer with morose distrust. 

“ I have hitherto sought your confi- 


104 


GOOD LUCK. 


deiKie^ in vain,” continued Arthur. 
“You have to this hour denied it me. 
I came here a stranger : if not to the 
place itself, to the mines and to you, 
I was a stranger. You met me with 
a declaration of w'ar, without even 
asking what I would be willing to 
change and improve. Y"ou received 
and have treated me as an enem}^, 
without even once asking w’hether I 
would be 3'our enemy.” 

“We are at war!” said Ulrich 
curtl}’. “ There, every thing is fair.” 

Arthur lifted his face, just before 
so pale, but now flooded with the flam- 
ing glow of the twilight, w'hose reflec- 
tion shone around both. 

“ Must it, then, be war between us? 
I do not mean the present quarrel 
which will end sooner or later, — I 
mean must this secret, imbittered war- 
fare, this hardness and compulsion on 
the one side, this rancor and hatred on 
the other, keep endlessly coiling and 
spinning on ? So it has been for j^ears 
long. I know it ; and so it will be 
again, if force compels you to yield. 
We should make peace before blood has 
been shed on both sides. We might 
now, since nothing has as yet hap- 
pened : in a few days it w'ill perhaps 
be too late.” 

With all its calmness, the voiee of 
the young chief had a pathos that 
was very touching ; and the pas- 
sionate emotion of Hartmann’s face 
betrayed that he had not been unsus- 
ceptible to this. The haughty miner, 
who, the more he had become accus- 
tomed to rule his equals, suffered all 
the more from wounded pride, and a 
fear of his superiors he could illy con- 
ceal, Saw himself now placed upon an 
elevation no one as 3'et had granted 
him. He veiy well knew that Berkow 
would not have spoken in this manner 
with any other of his underlings, 
perhaps not even with his officers ; 
that for this kind of treatment he 
must thank his individuality alone. 
The chief spoke to him as man to man, 
of a matter upon which hung the weal 
or woe of both ; and he might have 
been conquered had this chief been 
any other than Arthur Berkow. Ul- 
rich’s was far too lawless and passion- 
ate a natui’e to be able to do jus- 


tice where he hated with his whole 
soul. 

“ To give our confidence has been 
made difficult enough for us,” he said 
bitterly. ‘ ‘ Your father has for all these 
3’ears robbed us of so much, that none 
at all is left for the son. I believe 
3’ou, Herr Berkow, that 3’our proffer 
does not arise from fear : of aiy^ other 
I would not believe this ; of 3’ou I 
believe it. . But, as we both have 
decided to help ourselves, I think we 
will fight it out to the end. And one 
of us at the last will be sure to win.” 

“ And 3’our comrades? Will they 
take upon themselves all the care, the 
want, the miseiy, this fighting it out 
to the last will involve ? ” 

“ I cannot change matters. All I 
have done is for them.” 

“No, it is not done for them, ” 
said Arthur firml3^, “ but solely for 
the ambition of their leader, who 
would win the mastery for himself, 
and then become to them a worse des- 
pot than their late hated master ever 
was. If you still believe in your so- 
called mission, Hartmann, 3^ou cannot 
deceive me with it, now that I see 3’ou 
cast aside as worthless all I hold 
m3'self read3" to do for bettering the 
lot of your comi*ades. You refuse all 
m3" offers, because you w"ish to attain 
a goal I but too well know. In the 
future you would dictate, and have 
me and m3" officers powerless. Speak- 
ing in the name of a blindly-obedient 
rabble, 3'ou would arrogate to 3"our- 
self all the rights of a master, and 
leave me only with the name. You 
do not so much wish the recognition 
of 3"our part3", as the suppression of 
eveiy other ; and that is why 3'ou 
stake all upon this thi’ow. Y^'ou will 
lose it.” 

The speech, to such a man, was 
bold enough ; and Ulrich trembled 
with rage. 

“ Ah 1 since 3"ou know all so exactly, 
Herr Berkow, well and good. Y^ou 
are quite right : the question is not 
merely one of higher wages and a 
little more safety in the mines. That 
may be enough for those who are 
anxious for only wife and children, 
and know nothing more their whole 
i life long. The courageous ones among 


GOOD LUCK. 


105 


us seek more. We will have the reins 
in our hands : we will be respected as 
equals. This may be a hard lesson 
for our sovereign gentlemen to learn, 
but we are in the way of teaching it 
to them. We at last understand that 
it is our hands which win for j^ou that 
wealth of which you alone enjoy the 
fruits. You have used our arms in 
slaves’ work long enough, and now 
you shall learn to feel it.” 

The words were hurled forth with a 
fearful violence, as if every one of 
them were in itself a weapon to strike 
and to kill. The whole immeasurable 
passion of Ulrich Hartmann once more 
broke forth ; and the whole hatred he 
felt for a class was for the moment 
directed against its one representative 
who stood before him. 

Arthur’s position was hazardous in 
the extreme, as he stood opposite this 
man, who, the veins of his forehead 
swollen with rage, and with clinched 
fists, seemed ready to let deeds follow 
his words. 

But not even an eyelash trembled ; 
not a step did Arthur retreat from that 
dangerous nearness. He stood there 
with that bearing of cold, proud 
repose, his large eyes steadily fixed 
upon his rival, as if with those eyes 
alone he had the power to vanquish 
him. 

“ I believe, Hartmann, you must 
for the present allow the reins to 
remain in the hands which are accus- 
tomed to them, and are in a position 
to rule,” he said. “That, you will 
soon learn. By brute force you may 
raise insurrections, and pull down 
structures, but they cannot be built by 
this. Try to conduct the mines here 
with your own hands, if to those 
hands that hated element be wanting 
which gives direction to them, motive 
power to the machinery, and intellect 
to the work. And for the present, 
that remains with us. Place yourself 
by the side of your equals, and men 
will not deny you your rights. YvTiat 
you now have to throw into the scale, 
weapons alone, will never secure you 
the leadership.” 

Ulrich sought to answer, but passion 
choked his voice. Arthur glanced over 
to the forest where the twilight-glow 


was fading away into the darkness, 
and turned to go. 

“ If I had before known that every 
word of reconciliation would be un- 
availing, I would not have sought this 
interview. I offer you peace, and 
libert}’ to remain upon the works. 
Perhaps no other would have made 
such a concessiou, and it was difficult 
enough for me to force m^^self to it. 
But you have repulsed even this, with 
scorn and hatred. You are deter- 
mined to be my enemju Well, so be 
it then ; but take upon 3’ourseif the 
responsibility of all that happens. I 
have done my best to prevent all this, 
but in vain. However the quarrel 
ma}" end, we are now done with each 
other.” 

“ GliicJc auf!” cried Hartmann 
morosel}". The words sounded like 
cutting irony, as they indeed were at 
such a moment as this. The 3’oung 
chief seemed no longer to hear. He 
was already some steps distant, and 
now went in the direction of the 
houses. 

Ulrich remained behind. Over his 
head swayed the willow-branches, as 
they moved to and fro in the evening 
wind ; along the meadows crept a 
white vapor ; and over the firs yonder 
burst a sudden glow, w^eird, ominous, 
and red as blood, and then faded slow'- 
ly away. 

The 3^oung man stared dumbl3" into 
the flaming evening skj'. The omi- 
nous glow la3" also upon his face. 

“ ‘ We are done with each other?’ 
Not yet, Herr Arthur Berkow : we 
are just beginning ! I would not con- 
fess, even to m3’self, the cowardice 
that as 3’et has held me back. I would 
not venture to attack him when she 
was at his side. Now the path is 
clear : now we will balance our ac- 
counts ! ” 


XVI. 

In the Residence reigned all the 
varied life and activity of a summer’s 
afternoon. Throngs of idle prom- 
enaders, of business-people and work- 
1 len, in a perpetually changing tide, 


106 


GOOD LUCK. 


surged to and fro. There was an 
endless Babel of voices, a rattling of 
cart and carriage wheels. From all 
sides rose edd3dng clouds of dust ; and 
the glowing beams of the sun, alreadj" 
declining toward the west, lighted up 
the whole busy, animated scene. 

At a front window of the Windeg 
House, -which stood upon one of the 
principal streets, a 3'oung lady had 
stationed herself, and w^as gazing down 
upon all this commotion, which she 
had almost forgotten in the solitude 
of her wooded mountains. 

Eugenie had returned to her father’s 
house, and all its inmates seemed in- 
clined to blot from memory the brief 
period of her married life. In the 
famil}' circle this topic was seldom 
touched upon, and then onl}" v/hen 
they spoke of the approaching divorce. 
In this respect the sons followed the 
example of their father, who seemed 
resolved that a dead oblivion should 
rest upon that event, -while in secret 
he took the necessar}^ steps the law^ 
of divorce required. Until then the 
world w^as not to canvass the mat- 
ter. 

The servants, and the few acquaint- 
ances at this time present in the 
Residence, supposed that the 3'oung 
wife was making a brief visit to her 
famil3^, rendered necessary by the dis- 
tracted state of affairs at her hus- 
band’s mines. 

Eugenie again occupied the cham- 
ber which had been hers before her 
marriage. Nothing in its furniture 
or arrangements was changed ; and, as 
she now stood at the corner- window, 
outside ^ the well-known objects met 
her gaze, just as if she had never 
been absent. The last three months 
must and should be to her only a sad, 
oppressive dream, out of which she 
now awakened to the old freedom of 
her girlhood years, and to a better 
freedom than before ; for now the grim 
phantom of anxiety no longer brood- 
ed threateningly over every step taken 
by herself and her family ; now eveiy 
new da3’' did not bring new humilia- 
tions and new sacrifices ; now^ every 
hour of the hom^a life was no longer 
haunted by the fear that perhaps be- 
fore the morrow financial rui n, with 


all its terrible consequences, would 
have fallen upon them all. The old 
race of Windeg could again step forth 
in the full splendor of power and 
-vv'ealth. Whoever possessed the Ra- 
benau estates was rich enough to 
cover all earl3' losses, and secure for 
himself and his a brilliant future. 

In truth, one shadow 3’et brooded 
over all this new sunshine, — the ple- 
beian name so hated b3' the baron, 
and once so hated b3^ Eugenie. But 
this could onl}’ be a question of time. 
The beautiful, intellectual girl had 
once, in spite of the w'ell-known em- 
barrassments of her father, found in 
her own circle man3' admirers, -who, 
soon or late, would have become 
wooers. Eugenie Windeg had been 
a girl to make a man forget that he 
took to his home and heart the 
daughter of an impoverished, in- 
solvent famil3\ 

Old Berko w, with rough hand, had 
subverted all the baron’s plans for a 
brilliant alliance for his daughter, and 
w'rested the prize for his son. His 
had been the powder to demand where 
others must sue, and he had known 
how to use it. 

But now Eugenie would again be 
free.: the present lord of Rabenau 
could secure her a rich dowry ; and he 
knew more than one man, her equal 
in birth, Vv^ho would rejoice, and not 
from mercenar3" motives alone, to 
efface the name and last remem- 
brance of that unfortunate alliance, 
and, b3" a marriage worth3^ of her 
rank, raise the 3’oung baroness to a 
position as high, and even higher, than 
birth had given her. Then the last 
stain would be wiped from the Win- 
deg escutcheon, and it beam again in 
its ancient splendor. 

But the 3'Oung woman did not see 
things in the jo3’ous, hopeful light 
one might have expected she would, 
now that the sun of her fortune shone 
so resplendent. She had already been 
some weeks in her father’s house ; but 
the color would not return to her 
cheeks, nor her lips learn again their 
olden smile. Here in her own home, 
surrounded b3^ the fondest love and 
care of her famil3^, she remained pale 
and silent as she had ever been by 


GOOD LUCK. 


107 


the side of the husband she had been 
forced to wed. 

At this very moment she gazed 
down upon the crowd below ; but not 
one of those changing forms, in its 
ebbing and flowing tide, succeeded 
for a moment in fettering her atten- 
tion. She gazed ; but it was with 
that vacant, dreamy glance, which, 
lost to the nearest surroundings, sees 
something entirely different and in a 
different place. “In j^our Residence 
one unlearns all, especially the long- 
ing after his woodland solitudes.” 
These words seemed not to apply to 
her. Eugenie looked as if she was 
filled with a painful longing after 
them. 

Before the horseback ride, in which 
the baron usually indulged toward 
evening, he was accustomed to come 
to his daughter. He came to-day ; 
but his manner was more grave than 
usual, and he held a paper in his 
hand. 

‘ ‘ I must anno}^ you with a busi- 
ness matter, my child,” he began 
after a brief salutation. “I have 
just had a conference with our law3^er, 
which has proved satisfactor}’ bej^ond 
my expectation. Berkow’s attorney 
is endowed with full power to meet all 
our wishes ; both legal gentlemen 
have already agreed upon the neces- 
sary steps ; and the whole matter will 
probabl}' be adjusted far more quicklj" 
and easil}" than we ventured to hope. 
Will 3’ou please sign.^^our name to 
this paper ? ” 

He reached her the paper. Euge- 
nie made a movement as if to snatch 
it from him, but all at once her hand 
fell. 

‘ ‘ What am I to do ? ” 

“ Simply to affix j’our name to this 
paper, nothing more ! ” said the 
baron coolly, as he placed the sheet on 
the writing-table, and moved her a 
chair. Eugenie hesitated. 

“It is a legal document : must I 
not first read it ? ” 

Windeg smiled faintly. “ If it had 
been an important document, we 
should, of course, have laid it before 
3"Ou for inspection,” he said ; “ but it 
is only the petition for divorce, which 
the judge is to present in your namd, 


and to which he needs your signature, 
— a mere formality in the conduct of 
the case. The details will follow 
hereafter. But if 3^ou wish to Imow 
the wording of this ” — 

“No, no !” interrupted the 3^oung 
woman evasively. “ I do not wish 
that. I will sign the paper, but it 
need not be just at this moment. 
Just now I am not in the mood for 
it.” 

The baron looked ver3" much sur- 
prised. Mood? Nothing is needed 
here but 3’our signature. It will take 
but a moment ; and I have promised 
our attorney to send him the paper 
to-da3g as he intends to present it to- 
morrow.” 

“Well, then, this evening, I will 
bring it to 3’ou with my signature. 
But not at this moment. I cannot 
sign it now.” 

The tone of the 3^oung woman’s 
voice was singularly plaintive, almost 
agonized. The father shook his head 
as if in displeasure. 

“ This is a strange whim, Eugenie,” 
he said, “ one which I do not at all 
understand. Why will 3"ou not just 
now, here in m3" presence, make this 
simple stroke of the pen ? But if 3’ou 
insist upon the delay, I rely upon 
your handing me back the document 
at tea this evening. There will then 
be time enough to send it awa3".” 

He did not remark his daughter’s 
deep sigh of relief at these last 
words. He stepped to the window, 
and gazed down the street. 

“ AYill Curt not come to me?” 
asked Eugenie after a moment’s pause. 
‘ ‘ I have seen him only once to-da3*, 
at the dinner-table.” 

“ He must be weary from his jour- 
ne3", and is perhaps taking some rest. 
Ah, there you are. Curt, just as we 
were speaking of 3’ou ! ” 

The 3"aung baron, who entered at 
this moment, must have reckoned 
upon finding hi! sister alone ; for he 
said with evident and not quite grati- 
fied surprise, — 

You here, papa? I thought 3^ou 
having a conference up in the 
librar3" with our law3"er.” 

‘ ‘ Our conference is at an end, as 
you see,” replied the baron. 


108 


GOOD LUCK. 


Curt seemed to wish that the said 
conference had been longer. Mean- 
time he made no repty, but went to 
his sister, and confidentially sat down 
by her side. Only to-day noon he 
had come unexpectedly from the 
province. It was a singular, and, in 
the baron’s opinion, an unfortunate 
circumstance, that the regiment to 
which his eldest son belonged had 
just been stationed in the town which 
lay nearest to the Berkow estates, just 
now, when his family had broken off 
all relations there. 

It would be useless to request a 
long furlough for the young officer, as 
the riot just broken out among the 
miners had thrown the whole province 
into commotion. It was expected 
that the military would be called upon 
to quell the disturbance, and so Curt 
could not be spared for the present. 
He had gone to his new garrison, 
where, of course, Berkow was well 
known, with an express command 
from his father to be silent respecting 
the divorce. The baron held firmly 
to his first conclusion, to take the 
preliminar}^ steps in secret, as he 
must the final ones in the face of the 
world ; and he naturally supposed 
that his son would as much as possi- 
ble avoid all personal relations with 
his brother-in-law. 

He seemed to have been right in 
this supposition. Arthur’s name was 
never mentioned in Curt’s letters ; and 
only casual intelligence had been re- 
ceived as to how matters stood upon 
the Berkow estates, until Curt, in a 
military capacity, was ordered to the 
Residence. Curt had been at home 
but a few hours ; and at dinner the 
presence of guests had thrown a re- 
straint upon the family ; but now, 
when from his having just asked Eu- 
genie’s signature to the petition for 
divorce, this usually forbidden topic 
was uppermost in the baron’s mind, 
with an indifference one might show 
in relation to the affairs of the most 
distant acquaintance, he asked how 
matters stood upon the Berkow es- 
tates. 

“Badly, papa, very badly!” re- 
plied Curt, turning to his father, but 
not relinquishing his place near Eu- 


genie. “ Arthur manfully resists the 
ruin which threatens him from all 
sides ; but I fear he must at last yield. 
It is tenfold worse with him than with 
his colleagues at the other mines. 
He must now atone for all the sins 
his father committed in twent}’ years 
of tyranny and dishonest}^, as vv^ell as 
bear the result of his senseless specu- 
lations during these later 5’ears. I 
do not understand how he has so long 
held his own in the conflict. Any 
other man would have been van- 
quished long ago.” 

‘ ‘ If the outbreak is getting bej^ond 
his mastery, I wonder that he does 
not summon military aid,” said the 
baron rather coolly. 

“ That is the ver3’' point on which 
he will not listen to reason : I” — here 
all the aristocratic imperiousness of 
the 3’oung heir of Windeg broke out 
— “I would long ago have had these 
fellows shot down, and have forced 
the rebels to submission. They have 
given provocation enough for it ; and 
if their leader continues to goad 
them on, as he is now doing, they 
will the next thing burn Arthur’s 
house over his head ; but all this does 
not influence him. ‘ No, and no 
again,’ he says ; ‘ so long as I can 
defend myself, no stranger force sets 
foot in my works.’ Neither argu- 
ments nor entreaties move him. 

“And to confess the truth, papa, 
we, in our regiment, are very glad 
our help is not likely to be asked. 
During the last few weeks we have 
been obliged to lend it only too often. 
It was not half so bad at the other 
mines as at Berkow's ; but still, at 
the very first, their owners and offi- 
cers placed themselves on a war- 
footing with their ovui workmen, and 
demanded military aid. Harrowing 
and violent scenes have taken place, 
and we soldiers have been compelled 
to extreme measures. It is best not 
to resort to violence when it can in 
any way be avoided; and still, on 
the other hand, a master should not 
give up his authority, and let things 
go as they will, for he must be re- 
sponsible for all that happens. Our 
colonel and officers have a high re- 
spect for iH'thur, because he has thus. 


GOOD LUCK. 


109 


far kept even with his rebels ; and I 
think he will keep even with them, 
although things with him now are bad 
as possible.” 

Breathlessly intent, Eugenie had 
listened to her brother, who seemed 
to believe her quite unconcerned in 
the matter, for his recital had been 
addressed to his father. But the 
baron, who with ever increasing dis- 
pleasure had remarked the term 
‘ ‘ Arthur ” his son had repeatedly 
employed, said now in a tone of cold 
rebuke, — 

“ You and your comrades seem to 
be very minutely informed of all Herr 
Berkow’s affairs.” 

“Why, they are the talk of the 
whole town ! ” replied Curt naively. 
‘ ‘ As for myself, I have been over to 
Arthur’s pretty often.” 

The baron sprang from his chair 
at this confession. “ You have visited 
him at his estates? and that very 
often ? ” 

Whether the young ofScer had or 
had not remarked the emotion visible 
in Eugenie’s face at his last words, 
he clasped her hand more firmly, and, 
retaining his ingenuous tone, an- 
swered, — 

“Well, yes, papa. You com- 
manded me to be silent in regard to 
certain matters ; and I might have 
been, if, in his present situation I 
could have fully ignored my brother- 
in-law. The driving out there was 
not forbidden me.” 

‘ ‘ Because I believed j^our own 
sense of propriety would have for- 
bidden such a thing ! ” cried Baron 
Windeg in a towering rage. “1 as- 
sumed that you would shun all inti- 
macy with Berkow ; but, on the 
contrary, you have really sought his 
societ}^, as it appears, without even 
WTiting me a word about it. Eeally, 
Curt, this is past endurance.” 

Curt, to tell the truth, had feared 
a direct prohibition from his father, 
end had therefore chosen to be silent 
aoncerning his visits to Arthur. He 
had usually a great awe of his father’s 
angry moods; but to-day Eugenie’s 
presence seemed to counterbalance 
this awe. His e^^es met hers; and 
what he saw there must have enabled 


him to bear the paternal displeasure, 
for he quite unconcernedly replied, — 

“Really, papa, I do not know 
why I have grown so attached to 
Arthur. You would have become so, 
had you been in my place. He would 
be the most fascinating and amiable 
of men, if he was not, just now, so 
terribly in earnest ; but this earnest- 
ness really becomes him excellently 
well. Yesterday, as we parted, I 
said to him, ‘ Arthur, if I had earlier 
thus known thee ” — 

“Thee!” interrupted the baron 
with his sharpest emphasis. 

The young officer scornfully threw 
back his head. “Ah, yes! we are 
thee and thou to each other.* I 
begged him to call me so, and I do 
not see why we should not make use 
of that familiar pronoun. He is my 
brother-in-law.” 

“This brother-in-law-ship . must 
end,” said the baron coldly, as he 
pointed to the writing-table. “ There 
lies the petition for divorce.” 

Curt threw a none too tender glance 
upon the designated sheet. “Ah, 
yes, the divorce petition ! Has Eu- 
genie already signed it ? ” 

“ She is just about to do so.” 

The young man looked at his sister, 
whose hand now trembled in his, and 
whose lips quivered with an anguish 
she could scarce repress. 

“ Well, papa, I thought that upon 
that point Arthur had so borne him- 
self as to disarm all reproach and 
bitterness. It would be small in us 
now not to allow full justice to be 
rendered him. I could never have 
believed that a man of such energy 
could rise up out of such indolence 
as I have seen in him. One must see,, 
in order to believe it, all that he has 
done in the last few weeks, by being 
everywhere, and attending to every 
thing at the right time. What terri- 
ble scenes and conflicts he has avert- 
ed, — he alone in the midst of a 
rebellious mob, merely through the 
power of his individuality. He has 
all at once become a hero, — the 
colonel and his comrades, the whole 

* Among the Gemans “thee” and “thou” are 
terms of familiarity, used only among relatives and 
intimate friends. 


no 


GOOD LUCK. 


town, say that. His officers all con- 
duct themselves excellently, because 
he leads them everywhere, and not a 
single one has left the works. But, 
when I came awa}^, things seemed to 
have come to a most desperate pass. 
It is very unfortunate that Arthur. is 
so determined to have no outside 
force step between him and his min- 
ers, and that he persists in this deter- 
mination with all the strength of his 
iron will. I believe, that, if things 
come to the worst, he and his officers 
will intrench themselves in the house, 
and there fight till the last man falls 
before he' will call on us for help. 
That would be just like him.” 

Here Eugenie snatched her hand 
from, her brother’s, and^ rising sud- 
denly", went to the window. The 
baron also rose with an expression 
of lively displeasure. 

“I do not know", Curt,” he said, 
“ why you feel called upon to answer 
a simple question as to the position 
of affairs upon Berkow’s estate with 
such extravagant praises of him. It 
shows a want of consideration for 
your sister, w"hich I should least of 
all have imputed to you, who have 
always seemed to love her with such 
especial tenderness. I leave it to 
yourself to determine, w'hat, under 
existing circumstances, 3"ou will do 
with 3’our eccentric admiration for 
this man, which you seem to have so 
openly display^ed in your garrison. 
For the present, I beg that our con- 
versation may end. You see how 
painfully it has affected Eugenie. 
You will now ride out with me.” 

‘ ‘ Let Curt remain here just a few 
moments, papa,” pleaded Eugenie in a 
low voice. ‘‘ I w’ould like to aek him 
something.” 

The baron shrugged his shoulders. 
“ Very w^ell,” he said; “but I hope 
he will, at least, have the goodness 
not to allude again to this subject 
wiiich has so painfully excited you. 
In ten minutes the horses will be in 
readiness. Curt, I shall then posi- 
tively expect y^ou.” 

The door had scarce closed when 
the y'oung officer hastened to join his 
sister at the window^, and with un- 
controllable, though somewhat violent 


tenderness, placed his arm around 
her. “Are y"ou, too, angry with 
me, Eugenie?” he asked. “Was I 
really inconsiderate ? ” 

The y’oung w"oman, w"ith’ passionate 
intentness, raised her ey’es to him. 
“ You have been with Arthur, — you 
have often spoken with him. Only 
yesterday, at y"our departure, y^ou saw 
him : did he send no message at all 
by you?” 

Curt cast down his eyes. “He 
sent his compliments to yw and 
papa,” he said somew^hat hesitatingly. 

‘ ‘ In what w'ay ? What did he say 
to you ? ” 

“ He hurried after me, when I had 
already taken my seat in the carriage. 
“ Give my compliments fo the Herr 
baron and to y^our sister,” he said. 

“ And that was all ? ” 

“All.” 

Engenie turned away. She would 
not have her brother see the deep dis- 
appointment portray^ed in her features , 
but Curt held her fast. He had the 
beautiful dark eyes of his sister, only 
their expression was more lively and 
joyous ; but at this moment, as he 
bent low down to her, this had all 
vanished before his unw"onted gravity. 

“ You certainly must, at one time, 
have wounded him very deeply", Eu- 
genie, and in a way he can never 
forget. I would so gladly" have 
brought y"ou a line, a parting w’ord ; 
but that was not to be obtained from 
him. He would never answer when 
I spoke y"our name ; but every time 
he became deadly^ pale, and turned 
away, and almost peremptorily passed 
to another subject, so as only to hear 
nothing more of this, just as you 
used to do when , I spoke to y^ou of 
him. My God ! does he really hate 
you so much?” 

Eugenie, with a passionate gesture, 
broke loose from his arms. “Leave 
me. Curt, for God’s sake, leave me ! ” 
she cried. “ I can bear it no longer.” 

An expression, half triumph, flit- 
ted over the young officer’s face, and 
there was a tone almost of sup- 
pressed exultation in his A’oice. 

“ Well, I will not intrude into y’our 
secrets,” he said. “ I must now go. 
Papa will be impatient : he is already 


GOOD LUCK. 


Ill 


ill such a bad humor. I suppose I 
ought to leave you alone now, Eu- 
genie. You still have to sign the 
divorce petition. When ive return 
3’ou will perhaps have done so. 
Good-b}".” 

He hurried away. The horses 
stood waiting down in the court, and 
the baron was looking impatiently up 
to the window. The horseback ride 
this afternoon was not the pleasant- 
est ; for the baron was in ill-humor, 
and vented his displeasure upon his 
sons. He could not endure that any 
one bearing the name of Berkow 
should be praised in his presence ; and, 
as he naturally presupposed the same 
thing in regard to his daughter, he 
felt that both himself and she had 
reason to be offended ; and Curt had 
to hear quite a lecture upon his want 
of tact and consideration. 

But Curt took the lecture very 
calmly, not appearing to feel . the 
slightest remorse : on the contrary, 
he manifested a lively interest in the 
ride, and even more in its duration. 
It was so long since he had been in 
the Residence ; he found the very 
animated promenades so entertain- 
ing ; and he succeeded in so prolong- 
ing the excursion, that it was nearly 
dark Tvhen the four gentlemen returned 
to the city. 

Eugenie, meantime, had remained 
quite alone. The door of her room 
was closed : she could not and would 
not now suffer any intrusion. The 
walls of her chamber, and the old 
family-pictures which adorned them, 
had witnessed many tears, many bit- 
ter hours, at that time when prepara- 
tions were making for the 3’oung girFs 
marriage, but 3"et none so bitter as 
to-day ; for to-da}^ it was a struggle 
with her very self, and the enemy was 
not very easy to conquer. 

There upon the writing-table lay 
the paper in which a wife demanded 
legal separation from her husband ; 
only the signature to it was wanting. 
When the signature was affixed, the 
divorce was consummated ; for the 
husband’s consent, as well as the posi- 
tion and influence of the baron, in- 
sured to the affair a speedy and pros- 
perous issue. 


Just before, in her father’s presence, 
she had hesitated about making that 
- momentous pen-stroke ; but now it 
must be done. Yv^hat did it help, — 
this single hour’s delay? It was all 
the same whether the irrevocable hap- 
pened soon or late. But just at this 
hour Curt had come, and with his 
story again torn open the wound 
which had in truth never 3^et ceased 
to bleed. 

And still her brother could not 
bring with him a w'ord, not even a 
greeting. Give mj^ compliments to 
the baron and 3^our sister,” this was 
all. Why not have said, ‘ ‘ My compli- 
ments to her ladyship ? ” This would 
have been still more icy, still more 
formal. Eugenie stepped to her writ- 
ing-table, and her ej'es wandered over 
the words of the document. All 
there was so cold, so formal, and still 
these, few brief words decided the fu- 
ture of two beings. 

But Arthur had willed all this. 
He it wms wdio had first spoken the 
word of separation ; he who had first 
and ruthlessly assented to hastening 
the decree ; and wdien she had gone 
to him, and declared herself read}" to 
remain, he had turned coldly away 
and bidden her go. 

As she thought of this, the blood 
again mounted to her temples, and 
her hand reached after the pen. She 
was still woman enough to know what 
this signature meant for him, had he 
been the one obliged to set it there : 
she w-ell knew how to Interpret those 
glances when in unguarded moments 
he had betra3"ed himself. But to the 
last moment he had remained con- 
queror over this weakness, and he would 
not understand the hint b}^ which she 
had signified to him the possibility of 
a reconciliation. He had set pride 
against pride, scorn against scorn, for 
all which he must now suffer ; but she 
must suffer tenfold more. Better 
make two beings miserable, than con- 
fess that one had done the other 
wrong. 

The demon of pride again asserted 
itself in her soul with all its fatal 
might. How often had it obstinately 
kept the field in defiance of ever}" bet- 
ter emotion, although seldom in bless- 


112 


GOOD LUCK. 


ing for herself or others. But to-day 
with its voice blent still another. 
“ Arthur manfully seeks to stay the 
tide of ruin which threatens him from 
all sides, but I fear he must yield at 
last.” 

And if he did jdeld vanquished, he 
was vanquished alone, — alone as he 
had stood during the whole struggle. 
He had no friend^ no relative, — not a 
single one. However loyal his officers 
might be to him, however much his 
friends might now admire him, no 
one loved him ; and the wife, wdiose 
place was at his side, — she was at 
this moment to sign the paper de- 
manding immediate separation from 
the husband she had already forsaken, 
and who now day by day wrestled 
with ruin. Eugenie let the paper fall, 
and stepped back from the writing- 
table. What then, upon the whole, 
had been Arthur’s fault? He had 
shown himself neglectful, indifferent 
to the wife, who, he believed, had been 
enticed by his w^ealth alone, to a mar- 
riage of convenience ; and when this 
wife had made known to him the real, 
impelling motive of her marriage, she 
had treated him wdth a contempt no 
man could bear while a spark of man- 
hood remained in his breast. Here, 
too, he was forced to expiate his 
father’s sins ; and, in his brief, wed- 
ded life, he had richly expiated them. 

Since that conversation, Eugenie’s 
life had been a blank : her husband, 
cold and reticent, had isolated him- 
self from her. What had those days 
brought to him? 

Eugenie best knew the true signifi- 
cance of that life during those three 
months, in which the casual observer 
would have se«n only a calm, super- 
ficial indifference. But this indiffer- 
ence had carried with it a perpetual 
sting, — enough to drive a man to 
extremities. One can insult another 
with every breath and every glance ; 
and she had done this. 

With all the arrogance of her birth 
and her position, she had sought to 
force him back into the nothingness 
and pitiableness, w’here, in her opinion, 
he belonged. Day after day she had 
used her weapons, and used them 
only the more recklessly when she saw 


that they wounded. She had made 
his home a hell, his marriage a curse, 
in order to avenge herself on him for 
his father’s dishonorable dealings with 
her family. She had designedly 
goaded him on, until he had at last 
demanded a divorce, because he could 
no longer endure this life at her side. 
If he now rose in his might, and thrust 
from him the hand which had so often 
tortured and tormented him, who was 
to blame? 

The 3"Oung woman sprang from the 
chair on which she had thrown her- 
self, and in terrible excitement paced 
up and down as if to fiee from her 
own thoughts. She knew only too 
well what they sought, — to what they 
would drive her. There was onty one 
step which could help and rescue her, 
and that was impossible for her to take. 

And supposing she made that giant 
sacrifice of all her pride, and it was 
not accepted full}^ and entirel}" as she 
gave it ? Might she not have deceived 
herself? Might she not have read 
falsely in those ej'es which had never, 
but for a mohient, and then unwit- 
tingl3', been unveiled to her? Suppos- 
ing that glance should again meet 
her, — that ic3’^ glance with which he 
had asked after her right to do wffiat 
ever3^ other wife assumes as a 
sacred dut3' ? • Supposing he should 
again sa3^ to her that he would stand 
and fall alone, and for the second 
time bid her go? Never, no never! 
Rather endure the separation, rather 
take upon herself a life full of miser3’ 
and torture, than the possibilit3^ of 
such humiliation ! 

The evening sun, whose refiection 
still gilded the distant tree-tops, had 
long since set : the twilight was fall- 
ing, but it brought no coolness or 
quiet to the hot, crowded streets. 
On the sultry evening air outside 
was borne a continuous hum of voices 
and echo of footsteps and roll of car- 
riage-wheels. The human tide ebbed 
and fiow’ed unceasingl3’ ; and its loud, 
bewildering murnwirs rose to the win- 
dow where Eugenie stood. But, amid 
all these discordant sounds, there 
toned in her ear another voice, — at 
first only distant and indistinct ; 
then ever nearer, ever louder. 


GOOD 

Did it come from the green, wooded 
mountains? Had it fought its way 
through the eternal surgings of the 
city’s tumultuous waves, hither to 
this 3^oung wife? What it was she 
did not know ; but it sounded like the 
swaying of fir-boughs, like the mur- 
mur of the forest with its mysterious 
accords ; and with it there arose within 
her soul the whole sweet j'et bitter 
woe of those minutes lived under the 
firs. Again the fog rose and fell, and 
the storm roared, and the brook dashed 
madly on ; and from out of that gray 
veil rose clearty and distinctly the 
one form, which ever since, in waking 
or dreaming, had never been absent 
from her side. And those large 
brown eyes gazed upon her gravely 
and reproachfull}’. 

Whoever has fought through a con- 
flict where all the soul’s strength was 
strained to the utmost in wrestling 
against some ever-growing decision, 
knows such memories, which come all 
at once, without an}^ outside connec- 
tion or incitement, but with an al- 
mightiness which nothing can with- 
stand. 

Such memories Eugenie now felt 
hovering around her: one weapon 
after another was wrested from her 
hand, until at last nothing remained, 
— nothing but the spell of that hour 
in which she had first felt that hatred 
was at an end, that some new senti- 
ment had awakened in its place, — a 
sentiment against which she had 
waged a life-and-death conflict, but 
which had at last conquered. 

There was one last, brief struggle 
between the old demon of bitter, 
relentless pride, which could not for- 
get the rebuff it had once received, 
and the woman’s heart, which, in spite 
of all, knew itself beloved. This 
time the forest voices had not spoken 
in vain : they had won the final 
\ictoiy. The sheet which was to 
separate two beings who had sworn 
eteri^ally to belong to each other lay 
torn in" two upon the floor ; and the 
3wng wife was upon her knees, her 
uplifted face bathed in scalding tears. 

‘‘I cannot,” she cried, — “I can- 
not do this wrong to him and me! 
It alike concerns us both. Come 


LUCK. 113 . 

what will, Arthur, I remain with 
you ! ” 

“Where is Eugenie?” asked the 
baron, as an hour later he joined his 
sons in the lighted parlors. “Has 
any one informed her ladyship that we 
are waiting for her?” he added, turn- 
ing to the servant who had just ar- 
ranged the tea-table, and was about 
to leave the room. 

Curt anticipated the answer. “ Eu- 
genie is not at home, papa,” he said, 
motioning to the servant to withdraw. 

“Not at home ! ” repeated the 
baron in astonishment. “Has she 
driven out at tliis late hour? and 
where ? ” 

“ That I cannot tell j^ou,” replied 
Curt. ‘ ‘ Immediately upon dismount- 
ing from m3" horse, I went up to her 
room. She was not there, but I 
found this on the floor.” 

He drew forth a paper ; and a pecu- 
liar smile pla3"ed around his lips, as, 
with great apparent gravit3", he pro- 
ceeded to fit the two halves of the 
sheet together, so as to lay it before 
his father, who looked on without the 
least suspicion. 

“ This is our attorne3"’s draught of 
the divorce-petition, which I handed 
to Eugenie for her signature,” said 
the baron ; but the signature is still 
wanting, I see.” 

“No, the thing is not signed,” 
said Curt with the most innocent air 
in the world ; “ but it is torn in two. 
How strange ! Just look here, papa ! ” 

“What does this mean?” asked 
Windeg in the greatest astonishment. 
“Where can Eugenie be? I will 
ask the servants. If she has driven 
out, they must know when the car- 
riage was ordered.” 

He waS' about to place his hand 
upon the bell, when Curt said quietly, 
“ I believe she has gone to her hus- 
band.” 

“Are you out of 3’our senses, 
Curt?” exclaimed the baron. “ Eu- 
genie gone to her husband ! ” 

“ Well I can only suppose so ; but 
we can very easily determine, for 
upon her writing-desk la3" this note 
addressed to you. Here it is, and it 
must contain the desired informa- 
tion.” 


114 


GOOD LUCK. 


Baron Windeg tore off the envel- 
ope, and in his haste did not remark 
that Curt, with a shocking disregard 
of etiquette, stepped behind him, and 
read the note over his shoulder. As 
he read, the j’oung officer’s features 
showed such undisguised triumph, 
that his two 3’ounger brothers, who 
understood nothing of the scene, 
glanced inquiring!}’ first at him and 
then at their father. 

The note contained only a few 
lines : ‘‘I am going to m3" husband. 
Forgive me, papa, for this sudden and 
secret departure ; but I do not wish 
to lose an hour, and I cannot w’ait to 
encounter 3’our opposition, which could 
not move me, for m3" resolution is 
fixed. Take no further steps in the 
divorce business : recall those alread}’ 
taken. I refuse m3" consent to them. 
I will not leave Arthur ! 

“ Eugenie.” 

“ Was such a thing ever heard of? ” 
broke out the baron, as he let the 
note fall on the floor. “ A defiance 
of m3’ wishes, a deliberate flight out 
of 1113" house, and that m3’ own daugh- 
ter offers me ! She thus breaks loose 
from my protection, from my plans 
and hopes for her future, and returns 
to this Berkow. Now, ^when he is 
on the verge of ruin, w’hen his work- 
men are in rebellion, and anarch}’ 
reigns upon his estates, she goes to 
him ! Wh}", such a proceeding bor- 

ders upon madness ! I must know 
what has brought it about ; but first 
I must frustrate this senseless conclu- 
sion while there is 3’et time. I will 
this moment ” — 

‘ ‘ The express-train to R has 

been gone an hour,” interrupted Curt 
laconically. “The carriage, too, 
seems to have just returned from the 
station. In an}’ event, it is too late.” 

In fact, the}’ at this very moment 
heard the carriage in which the 3’oung 
woman must have gone drive into 
the portal below. The baron saw 
that it w’as indeed too late, and 
turned the full tide of his anger 
against his son Curt, whom he re- 
proached w"ith being alone in fault. 
By his foolish praise of his brother- 
in-law, and his exaggerated account 
of the dangers of his position, he had 


so aroused Eugenie’s conscience, that 
a false feeling of diit}" had impelled 
her to hasten to her husband. She 
had gone, onl}" because she believed 
him unhappy ; but when once there, 
who could tell if the}" would not at 
last come to a full reconciliation? 
Most certainly the}’ would, if - Berkow 
was egotistic enough to accei^t the 
proffered sacrifice. 

B}" all that was sacred, the baron 
swore to cany through the divorce in 
spite of opposition. The initiatory 
steps had been taken, the law3’ers 
already had the case in their hands, 
and Eugenie must and should come 
back to reason. He, her father, 
would see if he could not enforce his 
paternal author! t}’, and if. his two 
children, — here he threw an annihi- 
lating glance upon poor Curt, with 
whom he was alone for the moment, 
— seemed so entirel}’ to disregard it. 

Curt let the w’hole storm pass over 
him, w’ithout offering a S3’llable in self 
justification. He knew, from experi- 
ence, that this was his best course. 
His bowed head and downcast e3’es 
seemed to indicate that he was suffer- 
ing great remorse for his thoughtless- 
ness, and the w’rong it had done. 
But as the still enraged baron left 
the salon ^ in his own chamber to 
brood over this unheard-of affair, the 
young officer suddenly sprang up, and 
the jubilant exj^ression of his hand- 
some face, and the laughing eyes, gave 
proof how little the paternal anger 
had gone to his heart. 

“ To-morrow morning Eugenie W’ill 
be with her husband,” said he to his 
two brothers, who now besieged him 
with questions. “ Then let papa just 
once try to intrude w’ith his paternal 
authorit}" and his law3'ers ! Arthur 
will protect his w’ife as soon as he 
knows that she belongs to him : as 
yet, he has not known this. In truth, 
we ” — here Curt threw a wary glance 
to the door behind which his father 
had vanished, — “we shall have 
storms for a w"eek, perhaps ; and the 
most violent of all will come w"hen 
papa first perceives the mutual rela- 
tions between Arthur and Eugenie, 
and that they are now influenced by 
other motives than conscience and 


GOOD LUCK. 


115 


sense of duty, — that thej^ are now in 
the full sunshine of happiness, and 
that, with Eugenie by his side, Arthur 
will fight his way through all obsta- 
cles. Phank God ! we are free from 
the divorce-trial, lawyers and all ; and 
any one who now says a word to me 
against my brother-in-law shall an- 
swer for it.” 


XVII. 

Early the next forenoon the post- 
chaise from R. to the Berko w es- 
tates halted at the entrance of the 
valley in which the works were situ- 
ated, and in sight of the nearest 
houses. 

“ Do not attempt to go on, your 
lad3’ship,” said the coachman, making 
his appearance at the door. ‘‘You 
had better turn back with me, as I 
begged 3’ou at the last station. The 
peasant we have just met confirms the 
news already heard : to-day there 
will be riot and murder at the mines. 
Earty this morning the miners started 
out from the villages, and all is in 
confusion. Much as I wish to drive 
with 3’ou to the house, I cannot, with- 
out risking coach and horses. The 
men in revolt up 3’onder will spare 
neither friend nor foe. You must not 
go over to-day : wait until to-morrow.” 

The 3'oung woman, who sat quite 
alone in the coach, instead of answer- 
ing, opened the door, and stepped 
out. “ I cannot wait,” she said 
gravely; “but I will not endanger 
3’ou and 3'our equipage. In a quar- 
ter of an hour I can veiy well go the 
distance on foot. You can turn back.” 

The coachman wearied himself with 
warnings and expostulations. He 
thought it very strange that this ar- 
istocratic lad3> who, with lavish 
drinking-mone3' , had urged him on to 
the utmost possible speed, should 
now venture, so entirely alone, out 
into the midst of the tumult. But all 
his well-meant representations were 
repaid onty by an impatient gesture 
for him to depart; and at length, 
shrugging his shoulders, he tuimed, 
and went. 


Eugenie entered a footpath, which, 
without touching the works, led over 
the meadow to the end of the park, 
and which, apparently, was as 3’et 
safe. In case of need, she could find 
society and protection in the officers’ 
dwellings which lay along in that 
direction. 

She had not known how necessary 
both might be, when, following the 
impulse of the moment, she had un- 
dertaken the journey here alone ; and 
even now she did not know the 
whole magnitude of the danger which 
beset her in this walk. It was not the 
possibility of danger which gave her 
cheeks their high color, her eyes their 
restless light, and made her breast 
heave so violently that she sometimes 
had to pause for breath : it was fear 
of the separation. 

The heavy dream which had op- 
pressed her as she left her husband’s 
house could not have vanished dur- 
ing that whole period of absence. 
The home of her childhood, the love 
of her famity, the siren voices of the 
new life and happiness, had not 
availed to awaken her from it : the 
dream had remained, with its dull pain 
and its undefined longing. Now at 
last should the awakening come ; and 
all the thoughts, all the emotions, of 
the 3’oung wife, were compressed into 
this one question, “ How will he re- 
ceive me ? ” 

She had just reached a small house, 
standing alone, and forming, as it 
were, the outpost of the works, when 
a man, emerging from it, hastily ap- 
proached ; but, at sight of her, drew 
back in visible terror. 

“For God’s sake, 3’our lad3’ship, 
how came you here, and above all 
to-da3^ ? ” 

“Ah, Overseer Hartmann! is it 
3'ou?” said Eugenie, advancing to 
meet him. “Thank Heaven that I 
have met 3^ou just now,” she added. 
“ Revolt has broken out upon the 
works, I hear. I left the post-chaise 
down 3’onder, as the driver did not 
dare go on. I can now reach the 
house on foot.” 

The overseer made a quick, warn- 
ing gesture. “ That cannot be, 3’our 
ladyship : it wiU not do now. Per- 


116 


GOOD LUCK. 


haps to-morrow, or towards evening 
to-da}’, only not now.” 

‘ ‘ And wh}^ not now ? ” interrupted 
Eugenie, turning pale. “Is our house 
threatened? My husband ” — 

“No, no ; to-day Herr Berkow is 
in no danger : he is in the house with 
his officers. This time the revolt has 
broken out among us. This morn- 
ing a part of the miners wanted to 
go to work again ; but my son,”. — 
here a quiver of pain passed over the 
old man’s face, — “well, you will 
soon know how matters stand. 
Ulrich is in a rage. He and his un- 
derlings have driven the workmen 
back, and now hold possession of the 
mines. The vanquished party are not 
going to submit to this ; and they are 
plotting together. The entire works 
are in revolt, and comrade is arraj^ed 
against comrade. Merciful God ! what 
will be the end of this ? ” 

The overseer wrung his hands. 
Eugenie now understood the wild 
commotion up yonder : the sounds of 
strife, that, despite the distance, were 
plainly audible to her. 

“1 intend to shun the works,” re- 
turned she. “I wish to cross the 
meadow to the park ; and from 
there ” — 

“For Heaven’s sake, do not go 
there ! ” interrupted the old man. 
“ Ulrich is there with his whole party : 
they are holding a council upon the 
meadow. I was just going over there 
to beg him once more to come back 
to reason, and at least leave the 
mines free. Now the fight is against 
our own flesh and blood ; but, in his 
fuiy, he neither sees nor hears any 
thing. Do not go that wa}', my lady ; 
it is the worst.” 

“ I must reach the house,” declared 
Eugenie decidedly, “ cost what 'it 
will. Go with me only to the officers’ 
dwellings, Hartmann. If necessary, 
I will remain there until the path is 
free ; and, at your side, I shall be 
secure from danger.” 

The old man anxiously shook his 
head. “I cannot help your lad}^- 
ship,” he said. “To-day, when one 
stands arrayed against the other, 
amid all the tumult, I am scarce se- 
cui’e of my own life ; and, if you should 


be recognized, it would avail you lit- 
tle that I was at 3’our side. There is 
onl}" one person who can assure 3'ou 
respectful treatment,— one whom they 
will obe^" ; and he hates Herr Berkow 
with a deadly hatred, and hates 3^011 
because 3’ou are his wife. Bighteous 
God ! there he comes ! Something 
has happened to displease him : I see 
it in his face. Keep out of his sight 
just now, I implore 3^ou.” 

He pushed the 3’oung woman 
through the half-open door of the 
little house ; for already steps and 
loud, passionate voices were heard 
close b3\ Ulrich, accompanied by 
Lorenz and some other miners, came 
on without remarking his father. 
His face was flaming red ; upon his 
forehead la3’ a thunder-cloud, w’hich 
every moment thi’eatened to burst 
forth ; and his voice rang out in the 
wildest excitement. 

‘ ‘ And if the3" are our com- 
rades, or even our brothers, down 
with them as soon as the3^ become 
traitors to us ! We have pledged our 
word to stand one by the other ; and 
now they w’ould cowardly submit, and 
abandon us and the whole movement. 
They shall have their pay for this. 
Have 3’ou taken possession of the 
mines ? ” 

“Yes; but” — 

“No buts ! ” said the young leader 
imperiously to the miner who allowed 
himself this pretext. ‘ ‘ There must 
not be treason in our own ranks now, 
v/hen we stand so near to victor3’. 
You will drive them back, I tell 3"ou, 
as soon as they seek to come on. 
They shall learn w'here their place 
and their duty now is, even though 
they learn it with blood3' heads.” 

“But there are two hundred of 
them,” said Lorenz gravely. “ To- 
morrow there will be four hundred ; aiM 
if the chief should interfere, and make 
a speech to them, you know what effect 
that would have. We have learned 
this often enough of late.” 

“And if there were four hundred, 
— even if it was half of the workmen, 
we would compel them to submission 
with the other half ! ” cried Ulrich furi- 
ously. “ I will see if I can no longer 
be obeyed. But now forward ! Carl, 


GOOD LUCK. 


117 


you must go over to the works, and 
bring me news whether Berkow has 
again been interfering, — if with his 
damned eloquence he has not again 
made hundreds wavering. You oth- 
ers, go back to the mines. See that 
they are fully guarded, and allow 
no one there who does not belong to 
us. I will follow immediately. 
Go ! ” 

The command was instantl}^ obej^ed. 
The miners hastened in the direction 
ordered ; and Ulrich, who now for the 
first time saw that his father was 
present, went hastily up to him. 

“You here, father? You should 
rather” — he paused suddenly. His 
feet seemed rooted to the ground ; 
the face, just now so flushed, became 
white as if every drop of blood had 
left it, and the e3^es opened wide and 
staring as if the}’ saw a spirit. Euge- 
nie had stepped out of the door, and 
stood right before him. 

Into the 3’oung woman’s head had 
flashed an idea which she carried out 
that very moment. She did not 
think of the daring, even danger, of 
her venture. She would go to her 
husband at any price, and therefore 
she overcame the horror with which 
this man had inspired her since she 
knew upon what her power over him 
was based. Once more she would 
use this power, whose effect she had 
alread}’ so often proved. 

“It is I, Hartmann,” she said, 
mastering an involuntary tremor, and 
speaking with the fullest apparent 
calmness. “Your father has just 
warned me against taking the path 
alone, and still I must go on.” 

At the sound of her voice Ulrich 
seemed first to comprehend that it 
reall}’ was Eugenie Berkow who stood 
there before him, and not a vision of 
his excited fancy. Passionately he 
advanced a few steps toward her ; but 
Eugenie’s voice and glance still exer- 
cised the old power over him, and a 
gleam of mildness and repose now 
overspread his features. 

“What do 3’ou wish here, my 
lady?” he asked excitedly; but the 
tone just now so rough and imperious 
was changed. It had almost a touch 
of weakness. ‘ ‘ Things go badly with 


us to-day. This is no place for 
women; least of all for you. You 
must not remain here.” 

“I wish to go to m}’ husband,” 
said Eugenie quickl}’. 

“To — 3^our husband?” repeated 
Ulrich. “Indeed!” 

It was the first time the 3’oung 
wife had used this designation. She 
had always hitherto said ‘ ‘ Herr Ber- 
kow,” and Ulrich seemed to suspect 
what lay in this one word. In his 
first surprise he had not thought why 
she had come here so suddenly, or in 
what way she could possibl}’ have 
done this. Now he threw a hasty 
glance upon her travelling-dress, and 
a second around him, as if to seek the 
carriage or escort. 

“ I am alone,” explained Eugenie, 
who understood this glance ; ‘ ‘ and it 
is just that which forbids my going 
on. I do not fear the danger : it is 
the insults to which I might be ex- 
posed. You have once offered me 
3’our protection and your company’, 
Hartmann, where I did not need 
them ; now I lay claim to both. 
Conduct me safel}’ over to the house. 
You can do it.” 

The overseer had thus far stood 
anxiousl}’’ to one side ; he expected 
ever}’ moment some attack from his 
son against the wife of the chief he so 
hated, and was ready in case of need 
to interfere. He could not under- 
stand the calmness and fearlessness 
of this 3’oung woman in presence of 
a man whom every one knew to be the 
inciter of the whole revolt ; and now 
as she made this request of him, and 
would confide herself to his protec- 
tion, the old man’s self-possession 
left him ; he gazed in real terror up 
to her face. 

But Ulrich also was terribly ex- 
cited at this demand. The momen- 
tary expression of mildness and sub- 
mission had already vanished, and 
the old imperious obstinacy had re- 
turned. 

“Shall I conduct 5’ou over?” he 
asked in a hollow voice. “And do 
3’ou ask this from me, 3’our ladyship, 
— from me ? ” 

“ Erom you!’* Eugenie did not 
take her e3’es from his face. She 


118 


GOOD LUCK. 


knew that in them her whole might 
lay ; but here she seemed to stand at 
the utmost limit of this might. Ul- 
rich started up like a madman. 

“ Never ! no, never ! Rather would 
I let the house be stormed, let all 
go to ruin, rather than take 3'ou over 
there. Shall he have courage to 
resist us to the death because you are 
at his side ? Shall he triumph when 
he sees that j’ou have conie here alone 
from the Residence, quite alone, and 
through all this danger, onl}* so that 
he be not left solitary? For this 3*011 
must seek another guide ; and if 3*011 
find that other” — here he gave his 
father a threatening side-glance — 
“he would not go far with 3’ou. I 
should care for that.” 

“Ulrich, for God’s sake restrain 
3*ourself : it is a woman ! ” cried the 
overseer, stepping between the two in 
mortal terror. He natural^ saw in 
this scene onl3^ the outbreak of that 
reckless hostility which his son had 
long nursed against the whole Berkow 
famil3^ ; and therefore he placed him- 
self protectingl3’’ before the 3*oung 
woman, who gently but decidedl3* 
pushed him back. 

“ Then 3*011 will not accompan3* me, 
Hartmann ? ” 

“No, and ten times no ! ” 

“ Well, then, I will go alone.” 

She turned in the direction of the 
park ; but with two steps Ulrich had 
reached her, and placed himself in 
her wa3*. 

“ Go back, 3-our lad3*ship ! You 
cannot get through, I tell 3*011 ; and 
least of all where my comrades are. 
Woman or not, that is all the same. 
Your name is Berkow, and that suf- 
fices them. As soon as 3*011 are rec- 
ognized, thej* will all attack 3*011. 
You cannot and 3*ou shall not go over 
now. You remain here ! ” 

He hurled the last words at her 
TV'ith a voice of threatening command ; 
but Eugenie was not accustomed to 
allow others to command her, and the 
almost insane violence with which he 
endeavored to keep her from Arthur 
called forth a nameless anguish in her 
soul ; it must be worse with him than 
they had told her. 

“I will go to my husband,” she 


repeated with the utmost energy. “ I 
will see if the3* can forcibly block up 
my wa3* to him. Let 3’our comrades 
lay hands iqion a woman ! Give the 
signal for attack 3*ourself, if 3*ou 
would take the responsibility of this 
heroic deed. I am going.” 

And she went. She hastened past 
him and took the meadow path. 
Hartmann stood there and looked 
after her with glowing e3*es, without 
listening to the entreaties or repre- 
sentations of his father. Ulrich 
knew better than he what the 3*oung 
woman had in view b3* tliis venture, — 
to what she would force him ; but this 
time he would not 3*ield. And if she 
went to ruin on the threshold of her 
home, in sight of her husband. Before 
he himself conducted her to the arms 
of the hated man, before — Up yon- 
der appeared a crowd of miners who, 
shouting and raging, pressed near 
their leader. The foremost were only 
a few hundred steps distant ; already 
the3* had noticed that solitaiy wo- 
man’s form ; the .. next minute she 
must be recognized, and 01113* half an 
hour before he had himself inspired 
these men with a blind fur\* against 
all which bore the name of Berkow. 
Eugenie went on, right into the midst 
of danger, without even veiling her 
face. Ulrich stamped as if beside 
himself; then all at once he broke 
loose from his father, and the next 
moment he was at her side. 

‘ ‘ Put down 3*our veil ! ” he com- 
manded her, and with iron grasp 
placed his hand upon hers. 

AVith a deep sigh of relief, Eu- 
genie obe3*ed. Now she was safe. 
She knew that he would not again let 
go her hand, even if the wliole force 
of miners broke loose against her. 
AYith full consciousness, she had es- 
caped the danger ; but also with the 
full conviction that 01113* this moment- 
ary danger, to which she had exposed 
herself, could have enforced the 
protection he had denied her. She 
had conquered, but it had been only 
at the last moment. 

The3* reached the crowd, 

which made a movement as if to sur- 
round their leader ; but a brief 3*et 
most emphatic command from him 


GOOD LUCK. 


119 


bade tliem give way, and start at once 
for the mines. Their obedience was, as 
usual, unquestioning and unhesitating ; 
and Ulrich, who had not halted for a 
moment, drew his companion swiftly 
onward. Now for the first time she 
saw how impossible it would have 
been to pass through this crowd alone, 
or indeed with any other escort than 
the man at her side. 

The whole expanse of the meadow, 
usually so silent, was to-day the thea- 
tre of a violent tumult, although the 
only conflict had taken place at the 
mines. Throngs of miners passed to 
and fro, or gathered in wildl3^-excited 
groups ; everj^^here were angry faces 
and threatening gestures ; eveiywhere 
shouting, confusion, and uproar. The 
wildl^'-excited mob seemed to seek 
only an object upon which to wreak 
its whole lust for vengeance. Hap- 
pily, the footpath led along the edge 
of the meadow, a little away from the 
immediate scene of the tumult ; but 
even here Ulrich, as soon as he ap- 
peared, became the centre of general 
attention. 

But a strange surprise mingled with 
the uproarious shouts which ever}^- 
where greeted him. Man}^ wonder- 
ing, distrustful glances fell upon the 
woman at his side. In her dark trav- 
elling suit, and behind her thick veil, 
no one had recognized the wife of the 
chief ; and if, from her gait or bearing, 
any one had imagined it to be her 
ladyship, the supposition, if made 
audible to the crowd, would have 
been scouted with derisive laughter. 
It was Ulrich Hartmann who had 
taken her under his protection ; and 
he certainly would protect nothing 
which belonged to the house of Ber- 
kow. But it was still a lady who 
walked near him, — near this rough, 
wild son of the overseer, who was not 
wont to concern himself about wo- 
men, not even about Martha Ewers, 
an object of interest to every unmar- 
ried miner upon the works. Could 
this be Ulrich Hartmann, who re- 
garded and treated the wives of his 
comrades as a superfluous burden to 
be shaken off as much as possible, — 
could this indeed be he, who accompa- 
nied this strange ladjq and with an ex- 


pression upon his face as if he would 
fell down any man who approached a 
step too near? AVho was the lady? 
and what did it mean ? 

This short walk of scarce ten min- 
utes was a venture even for the 3’oung 
leader ; but he showed that he was ab- 
solute master of his comrades, and 
knew how to use his authorit}'. 
Now, with some imperious words, he 
dispersed a group which stood in his 
way ; now he hurled commands or di- 
rections to the crowd pressing on 
toward him, which made it take 
another course ; now he dismissed the 
solitary individuals, who came with 
questions or tidings, with a “ B}’ and 
b}’,” or ‘‘ AYait until I return ; ” and, 
amid all, he kept drawing on the 
3’oung woman so rapidl^^ as to prevent 
discoveiy. At length they reached 
the latticed gate at the entrance of 
the park. Ulrich pushed open the 
gate, and led Eugenie under the pro- 
tection of the trees. 

I have gone far enough with 
3"ou,” said he, letting go her hand. 
“ The park is j^et safe, and in five 
minutes you will be at the house.” 

Eugenie still trembled at thought 
of the danger she had just escaped, 
and her hand still ached from the iron 
pressure of his. Slowly she threw 
back her veil, and looked up into the 
face of her protector. 

“ Now be sure to hasten, j’our 
ladyship, ” said he with bitter irony. 

‘ ‘ I have honorably aided 3^ou to see 
3’our husband again. You will not 
keep him waiting.” 

The young miner’s face betrayed 
what torture she had inflicted upon 
him, as she left him the choice of ex- 
posing her to attack, or of conduct- 
ing her to her husband. The young 
woman had not the courage to thank 
him. Silently she extended to him 
her hand. 

But Ulrich thrust back the hand. 

‘‘You have dared demand much 
from me, my lady,” he said, “ so much 
that you came near losing all. Now 
you have 3mir will ; but do not again 
seek to compel me, as to-da3’, at least 
when he is near. If you do, then, 
by Heaven, I will give you both up to 
the merc3" of the mob ! ” 


120 


GOOD LUCK. 


Upon the terrace stood Franz and 
Anton, with anxious, 5^et curious 
faces, gazing over to the works. As 
their lady, whom they had supposed 
safe in the Residence, suddenly stood 
before them, without the sound of 
carriage-wheels having been heard, 
without her maid or any other com- 
pany, they started back in no less 
terror than the overseer, when, just 
before, she had appeared to him. 

She could not have come through 
the works, still less through the park, 
they thought ; for behind there, upon 
the meadow, the tumult was at its 
height ; and yet she was here ! Both 
servants were so confounded, that 
they could scarce answer their lady’s 
hurried questions ; but Eugenie learned 
that IleiT Berkow was just now in 
the house, and hastened up the steps. 

Franz, who followed her, found 
still more occasion to wonder at her 
ladyship ; for when she had arrived in 
the ante-chamber, she scarce allowed 
him to take her hat and cloak. As 
he was hastening to the wing occu- 
pied b}" Herr Berkow to announce her 
arrival, she ordered him back, sa3ing 
that she would go to her husband at 
once and without announcement. 
With the travelling-cloak still in his 
hands, Franz stood there and gazed 
after his mistress in open-mouthed 
wonder. This had all come like a 
clap of thunder : what could have 
happened in the Residence? 

Eugenie passed quickly through the 
hall and the two ante-rooms ; then she 
suddenly paused, for from the adjoin- 
ing cabinet she heard Arthur’s voice. 
The 3'oung wife had certainl}” reck- 
oned upon finding her husband alone, 
and now she found him in the com- 
pan}^ of another. This meeting must 
not take place in the presence of 
strangers : any thing but that ! Still 
hesitating as to whether she should 
turn back or remain, she at length 
stepped softly behind the portiere^ 
whose folds partially concealed her 
from view. 

“ It is impossible, Herr Berkow,” 
said the clear, sharp voice of the 
chief engineer. “If 3^ou still allow 
3’Ourself to be ruled b3" such forbear- 
ance, all you have now begun to bring 


back to order will turn against 3^011. 
Hartmann’s party has this time with- 
drawn from the field because it is the 
weaker ; but the scene of this morn- 
ing will be repeated, and with greater 
violence when we have something 
more to deal with than a mere fight 
with unarmed men. Hartmann lias 
shown that he will not spare his own 
comrades if they rebel against his 
terrorism. In carr3’ing out his obsti- 
nate designs, he is regardless alike 
of friend and foe.” 

The open door gave Eugenie an 
unobstructed view of the room. Ar- 
thur stood directly opposite her at 
the open window ; and the full light fell 
upon his face, which had gTOwn 
strangely sad since she saw him last. 
The shadow of care, which at that 
time had lain upon the forehead as 
3xt so little accustomed to wear it, 
had now engraven itself there in two 
deep folds which no after-time could 
perhaps obliterate. Ever3^ line of the 
face had become sharper and strong- 
er. The expression of energ3", which 
at its first dawning had been notice- 
able only in moments of excitement, 
now absolutel3^ predominated, and 
had quite obliterated the former list- 
less, dreamy look. It was evident 
that in a few weeks the 3*oung chief 
had learned what would for others be 
the work of 3’ears. 

“ I am certainl3^ the last man who 
would advise outside assistance,” 
continued the chief engineer ; ‘ ‘ but I 
think we ail, and particular^ our 
chief, have done enough to restrain 
the revolt. We certainl3’ cannot be 
blamed for resorting to a measure the 
other works took long ago, and with 
no such urgent necessit3’ as ours.” 

Arthur gravely shook his head, and 
replied, “ The other works can be no 
rule for us : there a few wounds and 
imprisonments settled all ; there fifty 
soldiers and a few shots fired into the 
air sufficed to put down the whole 
revolt. Here Hartmann stands at 
the head ; and we all know what that 
means. He himself would not quail 
before a ba3’onet-charge, and with him 
also stand or fall his entire band of 
followers. If we should resort to 
military force, peace for us could 


GOOD LUCK. 


121 


only come over the bodies of the 
slain.” 

The officer was silent ; but his 
deep gravity proved that he fully 
shared the apprehensions of his chief. 

“ But if peace is not to be ob- 
tained otherwise ” — began he again. 

“If it could be obtained in that 
way ” — returned Arthur ; ‘ ‘ but it can- 
not, and the sacrifice would be in 
vain. For the moment I might sub- 
due the insurrection, only to have it 
the next year, perhaps the next 
month, break forth anew ; and j^ou 
know as well as I that this will take 
from me the last possibility of hold- 
ing the works. In other places the 
workmen show some leaning toward 
justice and confidence ; in other places 
they begin to return to reason ; with us 
nothing of this kind can be hoped. 
This distrust, sown for so many years, 
cannot easily be uprooted. When I 
entered upon the control of the 
works, hatred and revenge was the 
watchword which greeted me ; it is 
the same to-day ; and if I place 
bloodshed between them and me, 
then all is over. 

“ In an open conflict, Hartmann 
might conquer ; he might perhaps by 
bloodshed and violence drive his men 
to obedience ; he still remains to them 
the Messiah from whom alone they 
expect their redemption. If I allow 
a single shot to be fired, if I take up 
arms even in self-defence, then I am 
the tjTant who allows murder in cold 
blood, — the oppressor who takes de- 
light in their destruction. The old 
overseer once said to me, — and they 
were no idle words, — ‘ If rebellion 
once breaks out <imong us, then God 
help us ! ”’ 

There was no repining, there was 
not the least trace of despondency, in 
his words ; they expressed only the 
deep resentment of a man who finds 
himself drawn to the edge of an 
abyss, to keep away from which he 
has vainly put forth all his strength. 
I^erhaps the 5’oung chief would not 
thus have spoken to any other ; but the 
head engineer was the only man who 
of late had been taken into his clos- 
est confidence, the only one who, in 
all the dangers which had menaced 


him, in all the measures he had un- 
dertaken, had stood firmly and un- 
waveringly at his side. lie was also 
the only one who sometimes heard 
from the chief other things than the 
directions and encouraging words 
which were alone vouchsafed the 
other officers. 

“ But a portion of the miners have 
already attempted to resume work,” 
said the chief engineer. 

“ And that very reason,” replied 
Arthur, ‘ ‘ will compel me so make war 
upon the others. No reconciliation 
with Hartmann is to be hoped for. 
I have once sought it in vain.” 

“With whom? What have 3'ou 
sought, Herr Berkow?” asked the 
officer with such an expression of 
horror that the young chief looked at 
him in astonishment. 

“An understanding with Hart- 
mann. It certainly did not happen 
officially ; that one might have con- 
sidered cowardice : it was at an acci- 
dental meeting between us two alone, 
where I once again offered him my 
hand.” 

“ That 3’ou could not do ! Offer 
3"our hand to that man ! ” interposed 
the engineer excitedly. “My God! 
but in truth, you as yet know noth- 
ing.” 

“I could not?” repeated Arthur 
somewhat sharply. “ What do you 
mean by that, sir ? You maybe assured 
that I know how to fully maintain my 
dignity, even on such an occasion as 
that.” 

The officer had already recovered 
his self-control . “I beg 3^0111- pardon , 
Herr Berkow,” he said. ‘ ‘ My expres- 
sion was not intended as a criticism 
upon our chief : it referred only to the 
son, who certainly has no suspicion 
of the reports connected with his fath- 
er’s deatL We had pledged our word 
to say nothing of these to 3’ou, and 
we did this with the best intentions. 
But I now see that we were wrong, 
that 3^ou ought to know. You would 
have ofiered your hand to Hartmann ; 
and this, I repeat, should not be.” 

Arthur looked fixedly at him. His 
face had all at once become colorless, 
and the lips trembled. 

“You speak of Hartmann and of my 


122 


GOOD LUCK. 


father’s death. Is there any connec- 
tion between the two ? ” 

“ I fear so : we all fear it. Com- 
mon suspicion attaches to Hartmann, 
and not alone with us, — also among 
his comrades.” 

“At that time, in the mines?” 
broke out Arthur in fearful excite- 
ment. ‘ ‘ A treacherous attack against 
a defenceless man? I cannot believe 
that of Hartmann.” 

“ He hated the dead man,” said the 
chief engineer significantly ; ‘ ‘ and he 
never denied this hatred. Herr Ber- 
kow might have enraged him by a 
command, by a word. Whether the 
rope really broke through mere acci- 
dent, and he employed the moment of 
danger to rescue himself, and hurl the 
other back into the abyss, or whether 
the wdiole was a deliberate plan, — this 
question truly is shrouded in m^'stery : 
but he is not innocent ; for that I 
would vouch.” 

The 3^oung chief showed how this 
view of the case excited him. He 
leaned heavily against the table for 
support. “ The inquest decided that 
it was an accident,” he returned with 
faltering voice. 

“ The inquest decided nothing. 
They assumed it to be an accident, and 
let it pass as such. No one ventured 
a public accusation. Eveiy proof was 
wanting ; and it would have led to an 
interminable contest with our miners 
if we had made use of thiS' suspicion 
to take from them their leader, who, 
in all probability^ would have been 
exculpated. We knew, Herr Berkow, 
that, as things then w^ere, you could not 
avoid a conflict wdth this rival ; and 
we would at least spare y^ou the bitter- 
ness of knowing with whom y^ou fought. 
That was the reason of our silence.” 

Arthur passed his hand over his 
moist forehead. “ I did not suspect 
that, — not that!” he said. “And 
even if it is only a suspicion, y’ou 
are right : I should not offer the man 
my?^ hand.” 

“ And this man,” interposed the 
officer excitedly^, “ has, at the head 
of his comrades, brought all this mis- 
fortune upon you and us. This man 
has incessantly fomented and pro- 
longed the quarrel ; and now, when 


his power is declining, he seeks to 
make the rupture incurable, and recon- 
ciliation impossible. W ould you spare 
him now if y’ou could ? ” 

“ Hini? No ! I was already’ done 
with him wdien he so roughly repelled 
my’ overtures ; and, after the scene of 
to-day’, I can no longer spare the 
others ; they’ drive me to extremities. 
This morning two hundred of the men 
w’ished to resume work ; and they 
certainly have the right to demand 
protection for their work. The mines 
must be made secure at any" price : 
I cannot accomplish this alone, and”^ 

“ And — we await y’our commands, 
Herr Berkow.” 

There was a momentary’ pause, but 
the visible struggle in Arthur’s face 
gradually’ gave way to an ex^Dression 
of grave determination. 

“ I will write to M. ! The letter 
shall be sent to-day’ : it must be ! ” 

“ At last! ” said the chief engineer 
half- aloud, and almost half-reproach- 
fully’. “ It is high time.” 

Arthur turned to his writing-table. 
“ Go now, and take care that the di- 
rector and the other gentlemen remain 
at the posts which I assigned them 
when I w’as upon the works. They’ 
must not move until I come my’self. 
This morning it would have been use- 
less to interfere in all that tumult ; 
perhaps it is how possible. In half 
an hour I will be with y’ou : if, mean- 
time, any thing special happens, send 
me word immediately’.” 

The officer, just about to withdraw, 
stepped once again to his chiefs side. 
“ I know what this decision costs y’ou, 
Herr Berkow,” he said gravely, “ and 
we none of us take the matter lightly ; 
but one need not alway’s fear the 
worst. Perhaps it will pass over with- 
out bloodshed.” 

As with a hasty parting salutation 
the chief engineer left the room, he 
was much too hurried, and had his 
head too full of other things, to remark 
the woman, w’ho, at his approach, 
withdrew still further to the protection 
of the portiere. Without even a side 
glance, he strode through the adjoin- 
ing room, and closed the door behind 
him. The husband and wife w’ere alone. 

Arthur had only a bitter smile for 


GOOD LUCK. 


123 


the last words of his oflScer. “ It is 
too late ! ” said he now to himself in 
a hollow voice. ‘‘ They will not yield 
without bloodshed. I must reap what 
my father sowed.” 

He threw himself down upon the 
lounge, and rested his head in his hand. 
Now, when he no longer had to endure 
the glances of inquisitive eyes, when 
he no longer had to play the chief, 
upon whose decision all the others 
hii'ng, — now the energy vanished from 
his features, to give place to that ex- 
pression of deathly weariness which 
overpowers even the strongest man, if 
for weeks long all his strength of 
mind and body has been strained and 
exercised to the utmost limits of pos- 
sibility. 

It Avas a moment of deep, utter dis- 
pondenc}^, such as well might approach 
a man who must ever, and ever in vain, 
contend against the curse of a past 
in which he is guilty of nothing save 
an indilferent alienation from its inter- 
ests, and whose momentous heirship, 
with all its oppressive burdens, has 
fallen upon him alone. ^ The bitter 
accusations against his father, which 
often came involuntarily from his lips, 
were stricken dumb at the moment he 
heard those dreadful hints as to his 
father’s death. 

And still it was the father’s fault 
alone, that, after this desperate strug- 
gle, the son was now confronted by 
this dire necessity, that with ruin before 
his eyes, forsaken b}^ his wife, deserted 
by all the world, he grasped at the last 
means of saving himself, and what he 
still called his, from a hatred, which, 
for long years sown and fostered by 
another hand, had left him to reap its 
whole terrible harvest. 

Arthur, as if in deathly weariness, 
closed his eyes, and leaned his head 
upon the arm of the lounge : he could 
endure no more. 

Eugenie quietly left her corner, and 
. stood upon the threshold. The dan- 
gers she had just passed were forgot- 
ten, — forgotten the accusation of the 
officer which had just thrilled her with 
such shuddering horror ; forgotten, 
also, him whose daughter she was, and 
all that dignity due to her ancient and 
noble race. 


Now, as she approached her hus- 
band, she thought of him alone. The 
thick veil which had so long lain 
between them should be rent at last. 
All must and should be explained. 
At the very idea of divorce she trem- 
bled, as if with that decree her death- 
sentence would be spoken. 

If she deceived herself, if she was 
not received as she wished and ought 
to be received after this sacrifice which 
she had extorted from her pride, — 
with stormy violence the blood rushed 
to the heart of this 3'oung wife, and 
this heart beat in nameless anguish. 
Upon the next minute hung all for her. 

‘‘ Arthur ! ” said she softly. 

Arthur started up as if a spirit-voice 
had touched his ear, and glanced 
around him. There, upon the thresh- 
old where she had bidden him adieu 
forever, stood his wife ; and, at the 
moment he recognized her, sense and 
reflection vanished. He made a ges- 
ture to rush toward her ; and the out- 
cry of happiness which burst from his 
lips, the uplighting of his eyes, betraj^ed 
all which by a self-mastery of long 
months he had until this hour con- 
cealed. 

“Eugenie!” 

The young woman breathed lightly, 
as if a mountain’s weight had fallen 
from her breast. The glance, the 
tone with which he called her name, 
gave her at last the certainty so long 
despaired of ; and if, in the midst of 
his violent excitement, he, too, re- 
strained himself, — if, as if for pro- 
tection against his own self, he strove 
again to put on the old mask, and to 
veil the treacherous glances, — it was 
too late : she had seen too much. 

“Whence come 3'ou here?” he 
asked at last, wfith difficulty control- 
ling his emotion, “ so sudden, so un- 
expected. And how did you reach 
the house ? The works are all in an 
uproar: 3"ou could^ not possibly have 
passed them.” 

Eugenie slowly approached him. 
“ I came only a few minutes ago,” she 
said. ‘ ‘ I certainly’ had to win my wa^^ 
by force : do not now ask me how, it 
is enough that I won it. I wanted to 
come to 3^ou before danger reached 
you.” 


124 


GOOD LUCK. 


Arthur made an effort to turn away. 
“ AA^hat does this mean, Eugenie? 
AA^hat would you have with this tone ? 
Curt must have alarmed you -with his 
reports, in spite of my request, in 
spite of ni}^ express forbiddance. I 
wish for no sacrifices from duty and 
magnanimity. You know it.” 

“Yes, I know it,” returned the 
young wife decidedly. “ AA^ith these 
words you have once already thrust 
me from 3’ou. You could not forgive 
me for having once done you wrong ; 
and, in revenge for that, 3"ou had 
almost sacrificed yourself and me. 
Arthur, who was the more revengeful, 
the harder — of us two?” 

“ It was not revenge,” said he 
gently. “I gave 3’ou freedom: 3’ou 
had yourself wished it.” 

Eugenie now stood close before 
him. The word which once for no 
price would have found its w^ay through 
her lips now became easy, since 
she knew herself beloved. She lifted 
her dark, ‘tear-moist e^^es imploringly 
up to him. 

“ And if I now tell my husband 
that I will not have this freedom with- 
out him, that I have come back to 
share all with him, whatever may hap- 
pen, that I — have learned to love 
him, — will he then, for the second 
time, bid me go ? ” 

She received no answer, at least 
none in words ; but she was already 
clasped in his arms : and in these 
arms, which so passionatel}’’ and firmly 
enclosed her, as if they would never 
let the treasure won at last go from 
them, under these passionate caresses, 
Eugenie felt how deeply’ her loss must 
have wounded him, and what her re- 
turn in. such a moment must be to him. 

She saw the uplighting of those 
great brown eyes in a lustre, such as, 
in spite of all those other lightning- 
like gleams, she had never 3’et seen in 
them. The bani#fed, sunken world 
had mounted up from its ab^^ss to the 
clearest sunlight : and the 3'oung wife 
must indeed have had a suspicion of 
all the treasures which it had in store 
for her ; for, with an expression of the 
most entire confidence, she laid her 
head upon her husband’s breast, as 
bending down to her, he said softly, — 


“My wife! Myall!” 

Through the open window, as a 
blessing and a greeting, swayed the 
voices of the green wooded hills. 
These voices must have blent their 
whispers with this newl3"-found happi- 
ness, for the3^ had helped bring it 
about. They had long known they 
had helped to bring it about. For 
those solitaiy fir-crowned hill-tops had 
long known these two as the3' did not 
know themselves ; when both stood 
arra3'ed in bitter scorn and hostilit3’, 
and spoke that word of separation, — 
spoke it just there when each heart 
had found in the other its destiny. 

But they are of no avail, this scorn 
and contention of the children of men, 
if with their loves and longings the3’ 
are betra3"ed within the spell the spirit 
of the mountain throws around his 
kingdom in the swa3dng mists of the 
first spring hours. And what there 
unites is united for all eternity I 


XVIII. 

The day which for the Berkow 
colony had begun so tempestuously 
ended far more calml3^ than could 
have been expected from the scenes 
of the morning. One unacquainted 
with the circumstances would per- 
haps have taken the tranquillit3^ 
which toward evening la3" over the 
works for the deepest repose ; and 
still it was only the lull of the storm 
which restrains itself for a moment, 
only to break loose again with re- 
newed fuiy. 

In the overseer’s dwelling also 
reigned that dull, oppressive stillness 
which concealed so much calamit3’ in 
its bosom. The overseer sat silent in 
his arm-chair by the stove ; Martha, 
busied in her household affairs, went 
to and fro, and ever3^ now and then 
threw a glance upon Ulrich, who with 
folded arms paced silently up and 
down the little room. No one spoke 
to him ; he spoke to none. The for- 
mer confidences, which from the un- 
governable character of the 3’oung 
master-miner had often enough led to 
violent scenes and explosions, but 


GOOD LUCK. 


125 


just as often had ended in reconcilia- 
tion, had long since ceased. Ulrich 
now ruled within the house absolutely 
as outside of it among his comrades : 
even his father no longer ventured to 
oppose his plans and undertakings ; 
but here, as there, fear was the impel- 
ling force ; love and confidence were 
at an end. 

The silence had already lasted for 
some time, and might have endured 
still longer, if Lorenz had not entered. 
Martha, who saw him from the win- 
dow, met him at the door. The rela- 
tions between this betrothed couple 
w^ere singularly cold. This had been 
a serious, eventful day ; and the young 
girl’s greeting might have been 
w^armer, ought perhaps to have been 
warmer, on that very account. The 
young miner seemed to feel this ; for 
his face assumed an almost offended 
expression, and he paused in the 
midst of his salutation : but Martha 
did not remark either ; and, with a 
hasty movement, he turned to Ulrich. 

“ WellV asked Ulrich, pausing in 
his walk. 

Lorenz shrugged his shoulders. 
‘‘It is as I have before told you. 
To-morrow four hundred wfill declare 
themselves ready to go to work, and 
there are just as many wavering and 
hesitating ones. You can scarce 
count upon half.” 

Ulrich did not fly into a rage, as 
usually upon such occasions : the wild 
passion wLich he had this morning 
shown w^hen he had learned of a much 
smaller defection among his com- 
rades strangely contrasted with the 
almost unnatural repose of his man- 
ner, as he replied, — 

“ Upon scarce half? and how long 
will they hold out ? ” 

Lorenz evaded a direct answer. 
“It is entirely the younger miners. 
They have stood by you from the first, 
and will still remain with 5’ou, even if 
there should be another conflict at the 
mines to-morrow. Ulrich, will you 
really push matters so far ? ” 

‘ ‘ He will push them to such a 
length,” said the overseer, rising, 
“ that the men will all fall away from 
him, one after the other, until at last 
he remains quite alone. I have told 


you, Ulrich, you could not succeed 
with your senseless demands and your 
senseless hatred, which might have 
been in place with the father, but 
which the son certainly has not de- 
served. What he offered j^ou was 
enough, that I tell you, — I, who have 
w^orked so long in the mines, and 
know how to sympathize with my 
comrades. Most miners would gladly 
have taken what has been offered to 
ours ; but they have been so much 
threatened, and have become so in- 
timidated, that no one longer ven- 
tures to lift a hand, because Ulrich 
has put it into their heads to demand 
impossibilities. Now for weeks long, 
this has been going on ; and 3’et all 
this misery, anxiety, and need has 
been in vain. There must at last 
come a day when wife and children, 
with their hunger, will rise above all 
else. And that day has now come. 
You have brought all this upon us, 
Ulrich, — you alone ; now make an 
end of it.” 

The old man had risen, and now 
gazed almost threateningly at his son ; 
but Ulrich, with sullen composure, en- 
dured this silent reproach, which at 
another time might have called forth 
all his rage. 

“I must not quarrel with 3'ou, 
father,” he returned coldl}^ : “ that I 
have long known. You are content 
if 3’ou can eat jrour hard bread in 
peace ; and all which lies be3’ond that 
you call folly and wickedness. I 
have ventured all. I thought I could 
carry this through ; and I should have 
done it, if 3"oung Berkow had not all 
at once risen up, and showed us a 
brow of iron. If it now fails — well, 
I am still sure of half my comrades, 
as Carl says ; and with these I will 
show him what conquering us means. 
He shall pay dearly enough for the 
victory.” 

The overseer looked up to Lorenz, 
who stood there with bowed head, 
without taking part in the conversa- 
tion ; then he turned to his son. 

“First see if the half will remain 
true to you, when the chief again 
steps between you as he did to-day 
noon. This has cost you the other 
half, Ulrich. Do you think it has 


126 


GOOD LUCK. 


not had its effect, — the manner in 
w hich he has borne himself from the 
very day j’ou began to threaten him ? 
Do you think they do not all feel 
that he is a match for you and them, 
and that be alone must of necessity 
control them wdien 3’ou once cease to 
be their master ? This morning some 
of them for the first time went back 
to their w’ork : they would have done 
so three weeks ago if they had dared. 
Kow that the beginning is made, 
there will be no more pause.” 

“You ma^^ be right, father,” said 
Ulrich sullenl}’ : ‘ ‘ there will be no 
more pause. I have built upon them 
as upon the rock ; and the}" have 
proved w’retched sand, which melts 
aw’ay beneath my hands. ' Berkow 
has learned how to cajole these cow'- 
ards : with his eloquence, yvith his 
accursed manner, to step among them, 
as if there W"as never a 6tone w^hich 
might be hurled against his forehead,* 
never a mallet wiiich in extremities 
might hit the high-born chief; and 
therefore no one ventures to attack 
him. I know why to-day he all at 
once carried his head so high, — why 
he rushed into the midst of the tu- 
mult with an air as if victory and 
happiness could no longer fail him ; 
and I also know that both have now 
come back to him, — I myself this 
morning conducted them to his 
arms.” 

The last w"ords were lost by the 
violent closing of the door which he 
had meantime opened : no one under- 
stood them. Ulrich stepped out into 
the open air, and threw himself dowui 
upon the bench : it w"as a weird, un- 
natural repose w'hich had fallen over 
him to-day. It seemed almost pain- 
ful in a man so accustomed to give 
loose rein to his wild passion. 
■Whether the desertion of his com- 
rades had so affected him, or whether 
it w’as something far different W'hich 
since this morning had come over him, 
W"e cannot say : the proud certainty 
of victory w’hich he had as yet shown 
at every hour appeared now W"eak- 
ened, almost destroyed. 

Over past the little garden flowed 
the wide stream, which farther on 


drove the wheels of the w’orks now 
standing still. It was a wild, treach- 
erous stream, this brook ; it had 
nothing of the gentle murmurs, the 
silver-clear glances, of its comrades 
up in the mountains ; and still it came 
forth from the depths of those moun- 
tains, just there where the mines lay. 
How often had it sought to draw in- 
nocent, playing children into its tor- 
rent, and at least to frighten and 
torment, w’here it could not w'ound 
and kill ; to revenge itself because 
man had made it a servant to execute 
his will. With a threatening mur- 
mur, the mad, restless wmters had 
dashed on in the last evening twilight, 
and still more ominous now rang out 
their voice. They hissed mockingly 
and maliciously, as if down in their 
depths they had learned of the earth- 
demons those perfidious wiles with 
which they lure to death the men who 
would fain wTCst from them their 
secrets ; as if they, too, would de- 
mand as their sacrifice, young, glow^- 
ing, hopeful lives, and bury them in the 
eternal night of their rayless caves. 
It was nothing good which rang out 
of it, — this rushing and roaring of 
the waters, ‘and it was in no good hour 
that this w eird murmur fell upon the 
young miner’s ear. Immovable he 
stared down into those depths as if a 
mysterious voice were calling to him. 

He must have sat there for a long 
time, when he heard a step approach- 
ing ; and immediately after Martha 
stood before him. 

‘ ‘ What do you wish ? ” asked 
Ulrich, without turning his glance 
from the stream. 

“ I wished to see where you were, 
Ulrich.” There seemed to be a re- 
strained anguish in the girl’s voice. 

“Where I was? Your betrothed 
husband is in the house ; for him 
you should care. Leave me where I 
am.” 

“ Carl has gone already,” said 
Martha quickly ; “ and he best knows 
that wLat I say to you need not con- 
cern him.” 

Ulrich turned and looked at her. 
It seemed as if he would break loose 
from the thoughts the mshing of the 
waters awoke in him. 


GOOD LUCK. 


127 


“Listen, Martha,” he said: “no 
one else would bear from you what 
Carl bears. I cannot allow you to 
meet me in this manner. You should 
not have said yes, if you did not love 
him.” 

With a gesture almost of scorn, 
the young girl turned away. “He 
knows that I do not love him : I told 
him so when I gave him my promise. 
He understands all this. I cannot 
change, at least not now. Perhaps 
after marriage I shall learn to love 
him.” 

“ Perhaps!'^ said Ulrich, in a tone 
too deep and cutting to refer merely 
to these words. “ So many others 
learn this after marriage, and why 
not 3’ou ? ” 

Again he gazed down into the dark, 
raging waters as if he could not 
break loose from its spell. That on- 
rushing tide, in its wild, unearthl3" 
murmurs, seemed to whisper very evil 
thoughts to him. 

Martha stood some few steps from 
him ; for she was not quite free from 
the fear which since that accident in 
the mines Ulrich had inspired in all. 
For weeks she had avoided ever}^ asso- 
ciation, every solitaiy interview, with 
Ulrich ; but to-da^" the old love had 
awakened mightily within her soul, 
and had driven her almost forcibl3’ to 
him. This strange calm did not de- 
ceive her : she suspected what la3" be- 
hind it. 

“You cannot get over the deser- 
tion of 3’our comrades ? ” asked she 
gentl3". Half of them 3"et remain 
true to 3nu, and Carl will stand b3' 
you to the last minute.” 

Ulrich smiled disdainful^. “ To- 
da3^ it is half, to-morrow* it w*ill be a 
quarter, and day after to-morrow, — 
let it rest, Martha. As for Lorenz, 
he has from the first been with me 
onl3" with half a heart. He has stood 
by me, and not by the revolt, because 
I was his friend ; but there w*ill soon 
be an end of friendship. Besides, his 
heart is so much engrossed in you, 
that he cannot now honorably love 
me.” 

“ Ulrich ! ” said the young girl 
with a passionate gesture. 

“ Well, that can no longer wound 


3'ou. You would not consent w^hen I 
begged you to be my wife. If you 
had, it would have been far better.” 

“ It would not have been better,” 
said Martha decidedly. “I am not 
made to endure what Carl so patiently 
endures day after day ; and as it is 
between him and me, it w*ould have 
been between us tw^o, only it w*ould 
have been I who must endure. I had 
no share in 3*our heart : 3'our love was 
wholly another’s.” 

There lay a bitter reproach in the 
w*ords ; but even this did not enrage 
Ulrich to-day. He had risen, and w’as 
looking over to the darkening park, 
as if he sought some object between 
the trees. 

“You think I could have found 
this love nearer and better if I had 
only sought it ; and there 3*ou are 
right. But one does not seek this, 
Martha : it suddenl3" seizes one, and 
does not release him while a breath 
remains in his breast. I have learned 
this. I have done 3*011 wrong, girl, — 
how great wrong, I now know for the 
first time ; but believe me, there is no 
blessing in such a love as mine ; it 
often oppresses one more heavily 
than the bitterest hatred.” 

It sounded strangel3^, this half 
entreat3^ for forgiveness in the mouth 
of Ulrich Hartmann, who usually 
asked little whether he had done one 
wrong or no ; and there was something 
else in the words, which la3’ infinitely 
far from his character, — a dumb resig- 
nation, a sorrow which no longer had 
any thing w*ild or passionate, but 
which, on that account, was so much 
the more touching. Martha forgot 
timidity and fear ; she stepped close 
to his side. 

“What is the matter with 3*ou, 
Ulrich? You are so strange to-day, 
as I have never before seen 3*ou. 
What is wanting to 3*ou?” 

He stroked the blonde hair from his 
temples, and leaned for support 
against the wooden fence. 

^‘I do not know. An^yindefined 
something has oppressed" me the 
whole day long, — a something from 
which I cannot free m3*self, and 
which robs me of all my strength. I 
certainly^ shall need all this strength 


128 


GOOD LUCK. 


to-moiTow ; but, whenever I would 
think of it, ever}^ thing grows black 
and obscure, as if nothing lay beyond 
this to-morrow, as if with it all was 
at an end, — all ! ” With a touch of 
his old obstinac3% Ulrich started up. 
“Idiotic thoughts! I believe the 
W’ater down there has done all this to 
me with its accursed roaring. And I 
have iust now time to listen. Fare- 
well.’’ 

He was about to go, but the girl 
anxiously held him back. “Where 
will you go ? To 3’our comrades ? ” 

“ No : I must take one more walk 
alone. Farewell.” 

“ Ulrich, stay,'- 1 implore 3"ou ! ” 

The 3'oung'^ miner’s short-lived 
weakness was already" over : he broke 
impatiently away. 

‘ ‘ Let me go I I have no time to 
talk with 3’ou, — some other day I ” 
He burst open the garden-gate, and 
shortly after vanished in the twilight 
of the leading to the park. 

Martha stood there with folded 
hands, and gazed after him. Morti- 
fication and bitter sorrow struggled in 
her ’features, but grief still held the 
masteiy. “There is no blessing in 
such love ! ” the words 3’et again 
echoed in her heart ; she also felt that 
there was no blessing in hers. 

Meantime Eugenie Berkow found 
herself alone in her husband’s cabinet. 
There remained to this husband ^ and 
wife but little time to give themselves 
up to love and to love’s happiness. 
Twice alread3" had Arthur been 
forced to leave her side : to-day noon, 
■when he had thro-wn himself into the 
midst of the revolt, and for the mo- 
ment had overpowered it ; and now" 
again, when a conference with his 
officers summoned him away. But in 
spite of her uneasiness about him, iii 
spite of her anxiet3" in regard to the 
present still so dark and threatening, 
the 3'oung wdfe’s face glow"ed with the 
reflection of a deep, inwmrd happi- 
ness, wiiich, won after so long a con- 
flict, no longer trembled before aiy 
outw'ard storm. She was with her 
husband, at his side, in his protection ; 
and Arthur seemed only too well to 
understand how to make his wife for- 
get all else but him. 


A door was opened, and ^epa^were 
heard in the adjoining room. J^ige- 
nie rose hastil3^ to greet the new- 
comer, whom she naturally supposed 
to be her husband ; but her first aston- 
ishment at sight of the strange form 
yielded to terror, as in the man wffio 
entered she recognized Ulrich Hart- 
mann. 

He also paused in astonishment as 
he became aware of her presence. 

“ Is it 3"ou, m3" lad3"? I seek Herr 
Berkow.” 

“ He is not here; I was. just now 
expecting him,” replied Eugenie 
quickl3^, but with trembling voice. 
She knew wffiat a dangerous man this 
w-as for Arthur, — w"hat role he played 
here upon the w orks ; still she had 
not hesitated to confide herself to his 
protection, wffien this morning no 
other choice had remained to her ; 
but between this morning and even- 
ing lay those hours in wffiich she had 
heard the accusations the< chief engi- 
neer had made against him. It was 
onl3" a suspicion ; but even the suspi- 
cion of the treacherous, underhanded 
murder of a defenceless man is some- 
thing terrible. The ver3" thought of 
it had filled this 3"oung woman with 
horror. She had confided herself to 
the open, reckless enemv of her hus- 
band ; but she drew back shuddering 
from the hand wdiich perhaps w"as red 
with the blood of Arthur’s father. 

Ulrich remarked this movement 
onl3^ too w"ell. He remained standing 
upon the threshold ; but there was an 
unmistakable irony in his voice as he 
said, — 

“ I have perhaps frightened 3"ou 
w"ith my entrance? It was not my 
fault that I did not have m3’self an- 
ncunced. Your lad3"ship is badl3^ 
served. I found none of your lackeys 
either on the stairs or in the corridors. 
I might perhaps have thrust them 
aside, had the3" refused me entrance ; 
but their outcry at this w"ould have 
been a sort of announcement.” 

Eugenie knew that he could have 
entered .unhindered. Franz and An- 
ton, at Arthur’s express command, 
w'ere in the ante-room of her own 
apartments. Now, when all minds 
were excited, when all the bands of 


GOOD LUCK. 


129 


order were loosened, lie did not know 
but the lawlessness of some might 
lead to an attack, or at least an in- 
trusion into the house. Unrest and 
anxiety had driven the 5’oung wife 
over to her husband’s chamber, which 
lay in the other wing, and from whose 
windows she could see him coming. 
Here, in truth, the entrance was un- 
guarded ; and she was entirely alone 
ill these rooms. 

“ What do 3’ou wish here, Hart- 
mann?” she asked,, summoning all 
her courage. ‘‘I did not suppose, 
that, after all which has happened, 
you would seek to enter our house, 
and even intrude j’ourself into the 
apartment of 3’our chief. You must 
know that he no longer can receive 3’^ou.” 

“It is for that ver}" reason 1 seek 
him to speak a few words with him. 
I expected to find him alone. It was 
not 3’ou I sought, 3- our lad3’ship.” 

At the last words he had stepped 
nearer. Eugenie involuntarily drew 
back to the farthest part of the room. 
He laughed bitterl3\ 

“ Can a few hours have made such 
a change? This morning 3’ou de- 
manded m3" protection, and leaned 
upon my arm as I conducted 3"ou 
through the tumult : now 3-011 flee from 
me as if near me 3-011 were not sure 
of 3-our life. Herr Berkow has well 
employed the time to represent me to 
3"ou as a robber and a murderer, — has 
he not?” 

The 3’oung woman’s delicate brows 
contracted, as, subduing her fear, she 
sternly replied, “Leave me! My 
husband is not here ! You see this ; 
and, even if he were to come now, I 
should hardly like to leave 3-ou alone 
with him.” 

“ Why not? ” asked Ulrich slowly, 
but with a lowering glance. “Why 
not?” repeated he more passionately, 
as she was silent. 

Eugenie’s fearless character had 
often betrayed her into inconsiderate 
expressions ; and even now she did 
not think of the possible consequen- 
ces of her words, as, firmly returning 
his glance, she was hurried on to give 
this dangerous answer, — 

^“-Because 3-our nearness has al- 
ready proved fatal to a Berkow.” 

d 


Hartmann shuddered and turned 
pale. For a moment it seemed as if 
he would break forth into all his old 
savagery ; but it did not happen. The 
dumb repose remained upon his fea- 
tures ; and his voice retained the 
masked, hollow tone it had had during 
the whole interview. 

“Ah, that was it!” said he half- 
aloud. “ Truly, I might have 
thought that this at last had found 
its wa3" to 3-0U.” 

The 3"oung woman looked with sur- 
prise upon this calmness, which she 
had not expected here, and which, in 
spite of all, seemed unnatural to her ; 
but even this incited her to a still 
greater venture. This morning he 
had shown her how unlimited was her 
power ; and, for Arthur’s sake, she 
wished to be certain as to who stood 
opposed to him in this conflict. She 
had a presentiment that the truth, 
even if concealed from all the world 
beside, would not be denied her. 

“You must know what I mean?” 
she began anew. “You understand 
my hint? Hartmann, can 3-ou pro- 
nounce the reports false, which, since 
that unhappy hour, have been con- 
nected with 3-our name ? ” 

He crossed his arms, and gazed 
morosel3^ at the floor. “And even 
if I did, would 3-ou believe me?” 

Eugenie was silent. 

“Would 3’ou believe me?” he 
asked 3-et again, but with a tone as if 
life and death for him hung upon her 
answer. 

She let her glance sweep over his 
face, w-hich betrayed the same agon- 
ized suspense as his voice. It was 
still deathly pale, this face; but it 
w-as now again fully turned toward 
her. 

“ I hold you capable of crime when 
3-our passionate nature is aroused, 
but not of falsehood.” 

Ulrich’s powerful breast rose and 
fell under its deep pulsations ; and, as 
if to relieve her fears, he stepped 
back. “As it is 3-ou who ask, my 
lady, I will answer.” 

The 3"Oung woman trembled, and 
leaned for support on the arm of the 
divan. She felt the danger of such 
an interview with such a man, but 


130 


GOOD LUCK. 


still she put the momentous ques- 
tion. 

“ They declare to my husband that 
it was more than a mere accident 
which caused the rope to break on 
that uiiluck}^ da}'. What was it, 
Hartmann ? ” 

‘‘ It yeas' accident, or, rather, it was 
something better, if you Tv^ill force me 
to say it, — it was retribution. Our 
chief had caused a change to be made 
in the elevator, which, like all he did, 
was for necessity, not for security. 
What mattered it if a few hundreds 
of miners, who must every day go up 
and down this elevator, were every 
day exposed to danger? Double and 
treble what it was able to bear was 
demanded of the Senseless thing ; and 
it at last had its revenge, but not 
upon the workmen, — it was upon the 
chief himself. It was not a human 
hand, your ladyship, which made the 
rope break just at that moment when it 
must bear his weight ; and it was mine 
least of all. I saw' the danger coming : 
W'e w'ere already at the last platform ; 
I made a spring upward, and ” — 

“Pushed him back?” interrupted 
Eugenie breathlessly as he paused. 

“ No ! I only let him fall. I could 
have rescued him if I had w'ished. 
A half minute w'as time enough for 
that. In truth, it might have cost my 
ow'n life ; he might have pulled me 
down with him if I had come to his 
help : but for every one of my com- 
rades, for every one of the officers, I 
would have risked this ; for that man 
I would not. At that moment all he 
had done to us shot through my brain. 
I thought that the fate to w'hich, for 
the sake of sparing his money, he 
every day exposed us, w'as only 
coming to him ; and I would not in- 
terfere w'itli the just retribution of 
Heaven. In spite of his outcries, I 
did not lift my hand ; and a minute 
after it was too late. The elevator 
fell, and he with it.” 

Hartmann wms silent. Eugenie in 
mingled horror and S}'mpatiiy gazed 
up at him. She knew only too Avell 
that his accusations against the dead 
W'ere just ; and she felt that even if 
she herself at such an hour might 
have put forth her hand to rescue the 


hated Berkow, the man before her 
had been tried past forgiveness or 
forgetfulness. He had but let his 
enemy perish before his eyes, when 
perhaps at the peril of his own life 
he might have rescued him. 

“ IlaAm you told me the whole truth, 
Hartmann ? ” she asked. “ Upon your 
word and honor ? ” 

“Upon my word and my honor, 
your ladyship ! ” 

His eyes sullenly yet firmly met 
hers. The young woman no longer 
doubted as she reproachfully asked, 
“ And why did you not solve this 
mystery ? Why did you not speak to 
others as you have to me ? ” 

An expression of bitter disdain 
passed over his face. “Because no 
one wmuld have believed me, — not a 
single one, not even my father. He 
is quite right. I have been w'ild and 
uncontrollable beyond all measure 
my whole life long. I have throw'n 
down all wffiich stood in my w'ay, and 
never troubled myself as to what 
others said of me ; that I must now 
confess. They all know that I hated 
the dead man ; and, as the accident 
happened when I w'as near, I knew 
they w'ould lay it to me. There was 
no doubt of that. My ow'n father 
said it to my face ; and as I could not 
say ‘ Yes,’ when he asked me if I w'as 
entirely innocent of Berkow’s death, 
— I had only to stretch forth my arm 
to rescue him, and I did not do it, — 
as I could not say ‘ Yes,’ he w'ould not 
hear another w'ord from me. He 
would not have believed me even 
upon my oath. I have now and then 
sought to convince my comrades of 
my innocence ; and, although they did 
not contradict me, I saw in their 
faces that they considered me a liar. 
I would not sue for their confidence, 
so I let things go as they would. I re- 
tained their friendship and comrade- 
ship all the same. If I had been 
arrested by process of law, I should 
certainly have spoken ; but it would 
still have been questionable w'hether 
any one believed me.” 

Eugenie shook her head. “You 
should have forced them to believe 
you, Hartmann ; and they would have 
done it if you had only seriously 


GOOD LUCK. 


131 


demanded it, but j’our pride and 
obstinacy would not suffer this. You 
met the suspicion with disdain, and 
that very thing strengthened it. Now 
you are suspected throughout the 
works, by the officers, by my hus- 
band”— 

“ What do I care for Herr Ber- 
kow ? ” he interposed roughly, — ‘ ‘ what 
for all the rest? AYhether they con- 
demn me or not, it is all the same to 
me. But I could not bear, my lady, 
to have j^ou turn from me in fear and 
detestation ; from you alone, I could 
not bear it ; and 3'ou believe me now : 
I see it in 3’our e3'es. I am perfectl3’ 
indifferent to the rest.” 

“I believe 3’ou,” said Eugenie 
gravely ; ‘ ‘ and I will see that m3^ 
husband exculpates 3’ou from the 
worst suspicion at least. We must 
not judge 3’ou for not saying life where 
3*ou might have saved it : for that 3’OU 
are answerable to 3’our own con- 
science. But Arthur shall no longer 
believe that the murderer of his father 
stands opposed to him. It is certainty 
too late for reconciliation. You have 
gone too far. For the first time, two 
hours ago, I learned all that had hap- 
pened, all that perhaps would happen 
if the attack upon the mines is re- 
newed to-morrow. Hartmann,” — the 
3’oung woman thoughtlessly ap- 
proached him, and imploringly laid 
her hand upon his arm, — ^ ‘ Hartmann, 
we stand upon the brink of a fearful 
catastrophe. You have forced my 
husband to protect himself and his 
from danger, and he has concluded so 
to do. To-morrow morning blood 
will flow, must flow ; reflect upon 
wffiom the responsibility will fall.” 

Her nearness, her hand upon his 
arm, did not fail of their effect upon 
Ulrich ; but this effect was no salu- 
tary one. His voice lost more and 
more its calm, indifferent tone, as he 
answered, — 

“ Upon me, do 3'OU think? Have a 
care*, my lady! It might also fall 
upon 3^011, if it harmed the one 3’ou 
love. Herr Berkow certainty will 
not remain here in the house if there 
is fighting outside ; that I know, and 
I also know whom I shall first seek 
when the conflict breaks out.” 


Eugenie had tremblingly withdrawn' 
Imr hand, and retreated from him. 
She heard this tone, and at the same 
time saw a glance which warned her. 
He was always the uncontrollable 
tiger, who one moment listened to 
her voice, perhaps the next to rise 
against her in the whole terrible might 
of his rage ; and the moment seemed 
to have come ; that glance threatened 
even her. 

“Hartmann, 3*011 speak with the 
wife of your chief ! ” she cried with an 
unavailing effort to recover her self- 
possession. “ If 3*011 hate him ” — 

“ The chief?” interrupted he with 
wild iron3\ “It matters not with 
whom I at the head of 1113* comrades 
have to deal. It is Arthur Berkow I 
hate, because 3*011 are his wife, be- 
cause 3’ou love him, and I — I love 
you, Eugenie, more than all else in 
the wide world ! Do not be so hor- 
rified at this ; 3*011 must have known 
it long ago ; I could not help it from 
the first moment I saw 3*ou. I have 
tried by force to crush and annihilate 
this love, but I could not. I cannot 
to-da3^, even though I again feel more 
than ever the old truth that only 
equal must unite with equal, and that 
for the like of us there can remain 
nothing but an aristocratic shrug of 
the shoulder, even though we have 
perilled life for her we love. But if a 
life is again in peril, I am not the 
one so senselessty to expose m3* own 
as I did under the hoofs of 3*our 
horses when 3*011 came here on your 
wedding-journey ; for that, another 
life must be risked than mine. I have 
already liated a Berkow to the death ; 
I then believed I could hate no man 
on earth s;o bitterly : now I know bet- 
ter. I have not 3*et been guilty of mur- 
der ; but there is one I could murder, 
one onty ! I did not kill the father ; 
but if I should ever be thus alone 
with the son, then it would be he or 
I_or both!” 

It was terrible, this moment, when 
the passion of this man, mounting 
almost to madness, burst its barriers, 
— an impetuous, devastating torrent 
which nothing could any longer dam 
or restrain. Eugenie saw that here 
an3’ word, an3’ outciy, would be too 


132 


GOOD LUCK. 


late, and felt that her power was at 
an end. She could not fl}’ : he stood 
in the way to the door ; but she 
hastened to the bell-pull, and rang 
with all her might. The servants 
were in the other wing, but still it 
might be possible for the sound to 
reach them. 

Hartmann had followed her. He 
sought to snatch her hand from the 
bell- wire, but at the same moment he 
■was seized by an arm to which in- 
dignation now lent strength to hurl 
aside this giant figure as if it had 
been that of a child. It was Arthur 
who stood between them, and with 
an outciy of jo}’, but also of mortal 
terror, Eugenie fled to her husband. 
She knew what must now come. 

Ulrich rushed forward without a 
word, but with features so distorted 
by rage as to be past recognition. 
That which now flamed up in his ej^es 
as the}^ met his rival betokened inevit- 
able destruction ; but Arthur, with 
ready presence of mind, had taken 
down a pistol which hung over his 
writing-desk, and throwing his left 
arm around his wife, wdth the right 
he pointed the deadlj" weapon toward 
his rival. 

“ Back, Hartmann ! Do not again 
venture to approach ! One more step 
toward my wife, a single one, and 
3'ou lie upon the floor ! ” 

The threatened man paused. In 
spite of the fury with which he was 
about to rush forward, he saw that 
the muzzle of the weapon pointed 
directl}' at him, and that the hand 
which held it did not tremble. If 
he took another step forward he 
would be shot, and his rival remain 
conqueror. He clenched his unarmed 
right hand. 

“ I have no pistol,” said he, gnash- 
ing his teeth. “ If I had, then we 
should stand equal against equal, 
Herr Chief ; but certainl3’^ we never 
have stood thus . Y ou have better pre- 
pared yourself than I. I have onl}^ my 
fist to place against 3’our ball, and 
there is no doubt which would do the 
quickest work.” 

Arthur did not take his e3'es from 
him. “ It is 3"our doing, Hartmann,” 
he said, that we must now alwa3’s 


have loaded weapons in our hands. 
I will at least protect m3’ house and 
m3’’ wife against 3’ou, even if it costs 
3’our life. Back, I tell 3’ou once 
again ! ” 

There was once more that same 
stead3’, unflinching glance from both 
men as at their first interview, when 
each appeared to measure the other’s 
strength ; and now as then the 
3’oung chief remained conqueror, 
though things had now gone so far 
that he needed other weapons than 
his e3’es alone. He stood there im- 
movable as 3’et, his finger upon the 
lock of the pistol, and with the same 
glance as at that former meeting he 
followed his rival until he reached the 
door. 

‘ ‘ I have never 3’ et placed much 
value upon my life,” said Ulrich de- 
fianth* : “I think 3’ou both must have 
had proof of this ; but I will not allow 
m3'’self to be shot down upon your 
threshold. I have still to reckon 
with 3’ou, sir. Do not tremble so, m3' 
lad3' ! You are in his arms, and he is 
safe ; noio he is safe, but we are not 
3'et at an end. And even if 3'ou both 
stood there as if nothing could ever 
sunder 3 011, as if 3’ou were linked one 
to the other for all eternit3’, still 
some time my hour would come ; and 
then, then, 3’ou would think of me ! ” 

He went. The heavy step echoed 
first in the adjoining room, then in 
the ante-chamber ; at last it died 
away outside. The 3'oung wife nestled 
more closely in her husband’s arms.' 
She had now proved in what manner 
the3’^ knew how to guard her. 

“You came at the right time, 
Arthur,” she said, still trembling with 
horror at the scene just past. “ I had 
left m3' room in spite of 3’our warning : 
it was an imprudence, I know ; but I 
wanted to await you here, and I be- 
lieved I should at least be safe an3’- 
where in the house.” 

Arthur let the weapon fall, and 
drew her closer to him. “But 3'ou 
was not, 3'OU have just learned,” he 
said. “What did Hartmann wish 
here in m3' cabinet ? ” 

“ I do not know. He sought 3'ou, 
but evidently with no good inten- 
tion.” 


GOOD LUCK. 


133 


“ I am prepared for all that may 
happen from this side,” Arthur re- 
turned calmly, as he laid the pistol on 
the writing-desk. “You see I was 
ready for this attack ; but I fear it is 
onl}" a prelude to to-morrow, when the 
real drama begins. Do 3'ou tremble 
before it, Eugenie? The help I have 
summoned maj^ arrive toward evening, 
but we shall have to hold out all da^" 
against the rioters.” 

‘ ‘ At 3’our side I tremble at nothing 
more. But, Arthur,” — here her voice 
took an expression of anguished en- 
treat}’, — “do not again go out alone 
into the midst of the uproar as 3’ou 
did to-da}" noon. He is there, and 
he has sworn 3*0 ur death.” 

Arthur gentl}’ lifted his 3^oung 
wife’s head, and gazed deep and 
steadil}’ into her e3’es. “ Life and 
death are not in Hartmann’s hands,” 
he said : ‘ ‘ over them there is Another, 
who must decide. Be calm, Eugenie ! 
I will do my dut}’ ; but I shall do it 
otherwise than in all these da3’s be- 
fore, for I now know that m3’ wife is 
anxious about me. That I shall not 
easil}" forget.” 

Outside upon the terrace stood 
Ulrich Hartmann. The twilight had 
deepened : one could no longer decide 
as to the expression of his face, as 
he glanced in the windows of the 
house he had just left ; but his voice 
betra3’ed it. Half aloud, as an oath, 
he repeated the threat he^ had before 
hurled at Arthur Berkow^ — “He or 
I, or, if it must be — both of us ! ” 


XIX. 

It had come, — the morning of that 
momentous da}’ to which Arthur Ber- 
kow and all connected with his inter- 
ests had looked forward with such 
anxious foreboding. And their most 
serious apprehensions seemed about 
to be realized. 

At an earl}^ hour all the officers 
assembled at the house of their chief. 
They might have come to take coun- 
sel, or fear might have driven them 
there. It seemed as if the latter 
were the impelling motive ; for the 


faces of the gentlemen were pale and 
agitated, and their manner betrayed 
great anxiet}’. 

“ I insist that it was a mistake to 
imprison the three miners,” declared 
Herr Schiilfer to the director. “ We 
might have ventured this if military 
assistance had been at hand, but we 
never should have done so on our own 
responsibilit}’. Now the}’ will storm 
the house to free the prisoners, and 
we shall have to give them up.” 

“Begging 3’our pardon, that we 
shall not do ! ” exclaimed the chief 
engineer, who, as usual, placed him- 
self in direct opposition to his col- 
league. “ We will endure the storm, 
aM, if necessar}’, defend ourselves 
here in the house. Herr Berkow has 
full}* decided to do this.” 

“ Well, 3’ou certainly must best 
know his decisions. You arc his sole 
adviser,” returned the director some- 
what piqued. He certainl}" could not 
boast of a similar intimacy with the 
3’oung chief, although his place per- 
haps would sooner have entitled him 
to it. 

“ Ilerr Berkow usually forms his 
conclusions without help from others,” 
replied the chief engineer dryl}" ; 
“but in this case I, as usual, full}’’ 
agree with him. It would have been 
against law and conscience, it would 
have been pitiable baseness^ to let 
these three rascals go free. It was 
their fixed intention to destroy our 
machines.” 

“ At Hartmann’s command,” inter- 
posed Schaffer. 

“ But they lent themselves to its 
execution. The master did right to 
hinder this knavish trick ; and I would 
like to see the man who in such a 
case would have let these fellows go 
unpunished. He had them shut up, 
and he was right. Hartmann certain- 
ly was not at hand : he was at the 
mines, where the excitement was al- 
ready at its height, and where, after 
all, he could not hinder the workmen 
going down, because his own father 
withstood him.” 

“ Yes, it was a lucky thing that the 
overseer came to our help,” said the 
director. “ He must have seen that 
no other means was left him to pre- 


134 


GOOD LUCK. 


vent extreme measures, when he this 
morning, of his own free will, offered 
to lead the workmen to the mines, 
although that is not his office. He 
knew’, that, come what w’ould, his son 
would not attack him, and none of 
the others w’ould raise a hand against 
their comrades wdien the}" saw the 
leader quail. iVe must thank the old 
man solely, that the descent into the 
mines has been really accomplished.” 

“ Yes, I admit that the descent 
has been accomplished. More than 
half the miners remained neutral ; and, 
if they had not been enraged by the 
arrest of their comrades, the whole 
thing w’ould have passed over in peace 
and tranquillity.” 

“ In peace and tranquillity while 
Hartmann commands ! ” laughed the 
chief engineer bitterly : ‘ ‘ you most 
W'ofully deceive yourselves. He 
seeks an excuse for attack, no matter 
what, and in an emergency would 
have made it without any excuse. 
The events of this morning must have 
shown him that his power is fast de- 
clining, — that perhaps he can control 
his men only to-day, and therefore he 
dares all. The fellow knows that he 
is lost, and recklessly carries with him 
into ruin all w’ho follow him from fear 
or habit. He has nothing more for 
wiiich to care, and he will spare us 
least of all.” 

They were interrupted by Herr 
Wilberg, wiio with a blanched face 
came from the window where he had 
posted himself for the last ten min- 
utes. 

“ The tumult increases,” he said 
timidly. ‘ ‘ There is no doubt that they 
intend an attack upon the house if 
Herr Berkow does not yield. The 
park-fence is already dowm, the 
grounds are stamped and trodden 
over. Ah, the magnificent roses upon 
the terraces ! ” 

“ Keep away from us with your 
sentimontality ! ” spoke up the chief 
engineer, while the di^-ector and 
Schaffer hastened to the window. 
“ Now, when the rebels are storming 
the house, you think of the dowm- 
trodden rose-bushes. Would you not 
like to withdraw, and put this lament 
over the roses into verse? I should 


think it w’ould be just the right sub- 
ject for a poet.” 

“ I have for some time had the 
misfortune of exciting the displeasure 
of the Herr Engineer with all I say 
and do,” returned Herr Wilberg of- 
fended, but still with an air of secret 
self-satisfaction, which seemed to rise 
above the malice of his superior. 

‘ ‘ Because you neither say nor do 
any thing sensible,” growled the en- 
gineer, turning his back to Herr Wil- 
berg, and joining his colleagues w’ho 
from the window were w’atching the 
ever increasing tumult. 

“ This wdll become serious,” said 
the director restlessly : ‘ ‘ they are 
threatening the entrance. We must 
inform the chief.” 

‘ ‘ Leave him in peace for the mo- 
ment at least,” interposed the chief 
engineer. “ I thought he had re- 
mained so persistently at his post since 
dawn, w"e might now allow him five 
minutes with his w"ife. The neces- 
sary measures have all been arranged, 
and w"herever danger is there he will 
be. That you must know.” 

The officer was right. Since the 
early morning hours, Arthur had been 
uninterruptedly engaged in giving 
commands, making arrangements and 
personal inspections, and had now for 
a few minutes withdrawn with his 
wife into an adjoining roorn. He 
must have informed her of the exact 
state of affairs ; for the young wife’s 
arms, in agonized excitement, w’ere 
flung around his neck. 

“ You must not go out, Arthur, 
she said: “it is a rash, a desperate 
venture. What can you do alone 
against this raging multitude? Yes- 
terday they were quarrelling among 
themselves when you stepped be- 
tween : to-day they will all turn 
against you. You will atone for this 
daring : I cannot let you go.” 

Arthur "gently but decidedly re- 
leased himself from her arms. “ I 
must, Eugenie,” he said: “it is the 
only possibility of quelling the storm, 
and it is not the first time I have 
been forced to encounter such scenes. 
What did you do yesterday on your 
arrival?” 

“ I wanted to come to you,” said 


GOOD LUCK. 


135 


Eugenie, in a tone as if this ought to 
justify every venture. “ But you 
will break away from me to deliver 
jmurself up to the blind fury of this 
Hartmann. Tliink of the scene of 
yesterday evening : of his threats ! 
If you must go out, if no choice is 
left you, then let me .at least go with 
you. I am not timid ; I tremble at 
danger only when I know jmu are ex- 
posed to.it alone.” 

He bent gravely but lovingly down 
to her. “ I know that you have 
courage, my Eugenie ; but I should be 
a coward in the midst of that mob, 
when I knew that a stone from their 
midst might also hit you. I want 
my full courage to-day ; and I should 
not have it if I saw you near me 
threatened, and had not the power to 
protect 3^ou. I know why 3mu wish 
to accompany me : 3’on believe me 
secure from one arm, so long as ^mu 
stand at my side. Do not deceive 
^murself. Since j^esterday evening 
that is past ; since then you have a 
share in the hatred with which he fol- 
lows me ; and even if this were not 
so” — here his voice lost its gentle, 
pleading tone, and his brow con- 
tracted — “I will not owe my secu- 
rity to a sentiment which ^ an insult 
to 3*011 as well as to me, and which 
alone demands the removal of this 
man, even if his other proceedings 
did not.” 

The 3'oung wife must have felt the 
truth of these words. She bowed 
her head in silent resignation : Arthur 
continued, — 

‘‘ The tumult is breaking out anew : 
I must go. Our meetings to-da3* 
must be limited to minutes, and they 
will be full enough of anguish, m3" 
poor wife. You could not have come 
back at a worse time.” 

“Would 3*ou rather endure the 
storm alone without me?” asked 
Eugenie softly. 

A glow of passionate tenderness 
illuminated the young man’s clouded 
features. “Without 3*011? I have 
hitherto endured like the soldier upon 
a forsaken post. Since yesterday I 
have learned that a struggle may be 
worth something when one has a life’s 
happiness and a future to win through 


it. You have brought both back to 
me ; and if from all sides the tempest 
breaks forth more fiercely upon us, I 
again believe in victoiy, since I again 
have 3*ou.” 

The debate among the officers, 
growing ever more excited, was 
silenced as Berkow entered with his 
wife ; but the emotion visible on all 
sides was more than mere respect for 
the entrance of the chief. All tlie 
grave, anxious, apprehensive glances 
were fixed upon his face, as if from it 
they w*ould read hope or fear. All 
pressed around him as around a cen- 
tral prop, against which the3* sought 
a support and sta3* ; all breathed more 
freely at his entrance, as if with it 
alone a part of the danger were re- 
moved. This emotion, involuntary 
as it was, sufficed to show Eugenie 
what a position her husband had won 
among those around him ; and his 
manner as he stepped among them 
showed still more that he knew how 
to retain it. His face, which onty a 
few moments before the 3*oung wife 
had seen so deepty troubled, now, 
when he met all these anxious faces, 
betra3*ed onty a calm seriousness, 
nothing more ; and his bearing was 
so confident that it must have infused 
courage into even the most timid. 

“Well, gentlemen, it looks rather 
hostile and threatening outside there,” 
he said. “We must prepare our- 
selves for a sort of siege, perhaps for 
an attack. Do 3*011 not think so ? ” 

“They want the prisoners re- 
leased,” said the director with a 
glance at Schaffer, as if demanding 
his support ; and Schaffer now inter- 
posed, — 

“Yes, certainly, Herr Berkow ; and 
I fear we shall not be able to main- 
tain ourselves against the uproar. 
The incarceration of the three miners 
is for the moment their onty ground 
or excuse for it ; if we took this from 
them ” — 

“Then they would find others,” 
interrupted Arthur sharply ; ‘ ‘ and 
the weakness betrayed b3* us would 
give them new courage. We must 
show neither w*eakness nor fear, or 
we shall lose the game at the last 
moment. I foresaw the consequences 


136 


GOOD LUCK. 


■when I had the three mischief-makers 
arrested ; bat to meet this attack, only 
the most urgent measures will suffice. 
The prisoners remain in confinement 
until the soldiers arrive.” 

The director stepped back, and 
Schiitfer shrugged his shoulders : they 
had now learned to know their 3'oung 
chief w’ell enough to understand that 
this tone would admit of no contra- 
diction. 

“ I miss Hartmann among the 
mob,” said Arthur, turning to the 
chief engineer. “ He is usually the 
leader in all uproar and tumult ; but 
to-day he seems to have only urged 
the men on to the attack, and then to 
have left them alone. He is nowhere 
visible.” 

“ And I, too, have missed him for a 
quarter of an hour,” returned the 
engineer thoughtfully. ‘ ‘ I hope he 
is not stirring up new mischief some- 
where else. You command the guards 
stationed at the machine-houses to be 
■withdrawn, Herr Berkow?” 

“ Certainh’. We want the few 
men at our disposal here at the house ; 
and now that entrance has been forced 
into the mines, the\^ as w^ell as the 
machines are quite secure. Nothing 
can be done there without endanger- 
ing the workmen below.” 

‘‘ With such a leader would this 
be a consideration ? ” asked the officer 
doubtful h\ 

Arthur’s brow grew dark. ‘ ‘ I might 
have thought of that ! Hartmann is 
an uncontrolled, savage nature when 
enraged ; but he is not a villain, and 
■wffiat 3’ou have hinted at would be vil- 
lan3\ He would have destroyed the 
machines so as to hinder the descent ; 
and as he could not hinder it, wh3’ do 
3'ou believe that he would so insanel3’ 
fall upon the machine-houses? It 
certainly would not be to expose his 
father and comrades to destruction. 
He wished to recall his former orders ; 
and when he saw that we were ahead 
of him, he became enraged at the 
failure of his plans against us. The 
descent alone has saved us the ma- 
chines. No one lifts his hand against 
them while the overseer and the rest 
are in the mines, but, instead, the3’ 
direct the storm- against the house. 


I will go, out and make an effort to 
quell it.” 

During the last weeks, the officers 
had become accustomed to see their 
chief enter into scenes like this with 
the utmost daring and without regard 
to personal danger ; but to-da3^ warn- 
ings and entreaties were heard from 
all sides. Even the chief engineer 
for this once joined in ; while Schaffer, 
who well knew from what sourc6 alone 
expostulation could avail, turned to 
Eugenie, who still stood at her hus- 
band’s side. 

“ Do not let him go, 3’our lad3^ship, 
not to-da3^ To-day it is more peril- 
ous than upon all cla3’s before. The 
miners are terribl3’ excited, and this 
time Hartmann is playing a desperate 
game against us. Keep our chief 
back!” - 

The 3'oung wdfe became deathly 
pale at this warning, which only too 
well confirmed her own fears ; but she 
retained her self-possession ; a part 
of Arthur’s calmness seemed to have 
passed over to her. 

“ M3^ husband has declared to me 
that he must make the effort,” she 
returned firml3^ ; “and he shall not 
sa3^ that I with tears and entreaties 
kept him back from what he deemed 
his duty. Let him go I ” 

Arthur clasped her hand still more 
firml3^ in his own ; but he thanked 
her onl3" with a glance. 

“Now, gentlemen,” he said, “ take 
an example from the courage of my 
wife. She certainly has the most to 
tremble for. I repeat to 3'ou, the at- 
tempt must be made. Let the doors 
be opened.” 

“We all go with 3’ou ! ” cried the 
chief engineer. “Fear nothing, m3’ 
lad3" : I will not leave 3’our husband’s 
side.” 

Arthur calml3’' but finnl3’ declined 
the proffer. “ I thank 3’ou ; but 3’ou 
remain here, and the other gentlemen 
likewise : I go alone. In such a 
case, the solitar3^ man is safest from 
the mob. The appearance of 3’ou all 
might seem a challenge. Only hold 
3’ourselves ready, if things come to 
the worst, to cover my retreat into 
the house. Farewell, Eugenie ! ” 

He went, accompanied to the steps 


GOOD LUCK. 


137 


the chief engineer and the other I 
officers. No one made an}' further! 
effort to hold him back : they all knew 
that in his appearance among the 
mob outside lay the only possibility of 
averting a danger, to withstand which 
for many hours, here within the house, 
seemed difficult if not impossible. 

Eugenie hastened to a window. 
She did not see that all present in 
anxious suspense pressed to the other 
windows ; she did not hear the half- 
audible remarks exchanged between 
the director and Schaffer, who stood 
immediately behind her : she saw only 
the wild, excited multitude, which, 
head crowding above head, surrounded 
the house, and with savage 3’ells, de- 
manded the release of the prisoners, — 
the multitude which would now hurl 
itself against her husband alone, and 
the next moment perhaps threaten his 
life. 

The more elegant than strong iron 
fence of the park had already yielded 
to the storm : it lay in ruins on the 
ground. The costly and carefull}’- 
kept pleasure-grounds, trodden down 
by hundreds of footsteps, presented 
only a wild chaos of earth, flower- 
pots, and trampled shrubs. The fore- 
most had already reached the terrace, 
and from there had forced their wa}^ 
close up to the house ; already some 
fists' w^ere armed with stones to hurl 
against the windows . Shouts , threats , 
cries of all kinds, blent wildly to- 
gether ; the tumult increased from 
minute to minute, until it mounted to 
a howd of a moment’s duration, which 
had no longer any thing human in its 
sound. 

Then all at once there was a deep, 
breathless calm. The tumult died 
awa}^ suddenl}", as if some celestial 
power had commanded silence. The 
■w'ildl3’-excited groups paused ; the 
mob swaj’ed back as if it had en- 
countered some sudden resistance ; 
and all e^^es, all faces, turned in one 
direction. The front door was opened, 
and the young chief stepped out upon 
the terrace. 

The silence was of only a few mo- 
ments’ duration ; then the momentary 
surprise yielded to a renewed out- 
break of fury more terrible than the 


first ; and now it had a better object. 
All these furious outcries, all these 
faces distorted by rage, all these 
threateningl3’-lifted arms, which just 
before had menaced the house and 
its inmates, now turned against a sin- 
gle one ; but this one was the chief, 
the master of the works : and what 
the father, with his mechanical genius, 
with his persistent endurance and his 
t3Tannical will, had not been able to 
establish in many 3’ears, the son had 
enforced in a few weeks, — his absolute 
personal authorit3\ It availed even 
here, where all the bands of order 
were loosened. Calmly he let the 
storm rage around him ; the slender 
form -erect, the large eyes stead}’ and 
clear turned to the throng, every one 
of which was his superior in strength, 
and from which he had no protection 
save his authorit}’. There he stood 
opposed to them, entirel}’ alone and 
unarmed ; but he stood there as if 
these surging waves of insurrection 
must break against him. 

And in truth the}’ did break. 
Gradually the uproar subsided ; it 
subsided into cries, then murmurs ; 
at last these also died away. And now 
arose Berkow’s voice, at first inaudi- 
ble amid the excitement, and still 
often interrupted by the tumult which 
by fits and starts again broke forth ; 
but which, often as it rose, again sank 
powerless, and at last entirely ceased ; 
so that only the voice of the young 
chief was heard, which, clear, loud 
and distinct, rose above all, and be- 
came intelligible to the most distant. 

“God, be thanked!” murmured 
Schaffer, as he wiped his forehead 
with his pocket-handkerchief ; ‘ ^ now 
he has them in rein. The mob foams 
at the mouth and rears, but it obeys. 
Only see, 'your ladyship, how the ex- 
citement is subsiding ! — how all fall 
hack ! They are really leaving the 
terrace ! and see there, the stones 
also are falling to the ground 1 If 
Heaven only keeps Hartmann away 
just now, the danger is over.” 

He did not know with what mental 
anguish Eugenie was repeating this 
prayer in her soul. She had been 
continually seeking that di’eaded form 
amid the mob ; and so long as it was 


138 


GOOD LUCK. 


not risible she kept np her courage, 
so long she believed Arthur safe. 
But now hope and security were at 
an end. 

It might be that the sudden cessa- 
tion of the uproar he had intentionall}’ 
aroused called back the missing one, 
or that a suspicion of what had hap- 
pened drew him hither at the decisive 
moment. As if he stepped out of the 
earth, Ulrich Hartmann suddenl}^ 
stood at the park-gate behind the 
mob ; and a single glance told him 
how matters were. 


XX. 

“Cowards you are, all of you!” 
he cried in a voice of thunder to his 
comrades, as, followed by Lorenz and 
the master-miner Wilms, he forced 
his way through the dense mass. 

‘ ‘ I hardl}^ supposed that you would 
allow 3’ourselves to fall into his net 
while we went to ascertain where the 
prisoners had been taken. We know 
now. They are there in the lower 
story of the right tower, close , behind 
the great hall. Break in the plate- 
glass window, and then we have no 
need to storm the door.” 

No one obe^xd the command, and 
yet it did not remain ineffectual. 
There is nothing more wavering of 
soul, more will-less, than an excited 
mob which is wont to allow itself to 
be controlled by the will of one man. 
In all this tumult and uproar, just 
subsided, there had been a lack of 
purpose, an indecision, which would 
never have gone so far as a direct 
attack. The eje^ the arm, of the 
leader had been wanting ; now the}^ 
were present, and the moment his 
hand again grasped the reins he gave | 
the mob a decided purpose. They 
now knew where the prisoners could be 
found ; the^^ knew the way to them ; 
and this awakened anew the danger 
which had been only pailially over- 
come. 

Ulrich at this moment gave him- 
self little concern whether or not his 
orders were obeyed. He had forced 
his waj^ to the terrace, and now stood 


close before the young chief, with the 
whole obstinac}^ and pride of his 
uncontrollable nature, with his giant 
form towering almost a head above all 
the others. He was the born leader 
of the masses, whose wild energy, 
whose despotic will, impelled them on 
to a blind obedience, and who, in 
spite of all that had happened, all 
that perhaps might happen, still for 
the moment had unlimited power over 
them. The whole victoiy which 
Arthur had won was imperilled, if not 
destroyed, b3’ the mere appearance of 
this man, whose individualit3’ was at 
least as powerful in its workings as 
his ovrn. 

“ Where are our comrades? ” asked 
Hartmann threatening^, as he stepped 
still nearer. “We will have them 
released this instant. We allow no 
outrage against an3’ of our men.” 

‘ ‘ And I allow no destro3dng of my 
machines,” interrupted Arthur with 
calm dignit3^ “ I have had the men 
shut up, although they were onl3' the 
tool of another hand. Who ordered 
the attack upon the machines ? ” 

Ulrich’s eyes flashed fearfully but 
triumphantl3^ : he hcd foreseen this 
firmness, and had built his plans upon 
it. He indeed wanted no excuse for 
an attack ; he would, at an3^ cost, 
gratif3" his hatred ; but his men, who 
were alread3^ wavering, and threat- 
ened to desert their colors, needed 
such excuse : this would goad ‘ on 
anew the faint-hearted ones ; and the 
rival was brave and proud enough to 
allow him this. 

‘ ‘ I need not bandy words with 
3mu ! ” he cried derisiveU ; “.and I 
certainly need not allow 3mu to listen 
to me with that arrogant air. Once 
again I tell 3*011, release those prison- 
ers 1 The miners demand it, or ” — 
his glance finished the threat. 

“ The prisoners remain in confine- 
ment,” declared Arthur unmoved. 
“ And you, Hartmann, have no longer 
a right to speak in the name of all 
the miners : more than half have 
alread3' deserted you. I have nothing 
more to sa3" to 3*011.” 

“ But I have to 3*011 ! ” cried Ulrich 
beside himself. ‘ ‘ To our comrades ! ” 
he shouted, turning to the excited 


GOOD 

mob. “ Strike down all that opposes 
you ! Forward ! ” 

He was about to fall upon Berkow 
first of all, and thereby give the signal 
for attack; but before this could 
happen, before it was decided wheth- 
er the mob would 3ueld or den}^ him 
obedience, there was heard a strange 
sound, which made all tremble, and 
caused even the wild leader to pause 
in horror, while he like the others 
listened spell-bound and in breath- 
less silence. It was a sound like 
distant, hollow thunder, which seemed 
to come from the depths of the earth, 
and w'^s followed b}' a momentary 
underground reverberation. Then 
all became still as death, and hun- 
dreds of faces white with terror 
turned in the direction of the works. 

‘‘God of heaven! That came 
from the mines ; something has hap- 
pened there 1 ” cried Lorenz, starting 
up. 

“It was an explosion,” said the 
chief engineer, who during the last 
critical moments had stood in the 
vestibule below, at the head of the 
3'ounger officers and the whole availa- 
ble force of servants, so as to be 
ready to hasten to the help of the 
chief. “ An accident has happened 
in the ‘ mines, Herr Berkow. We 
must go over.” 

For an instant horror seemed to 
pals}^ all around. No one stirred ; 
the .warning had been too terrible. 
At the veiy moment when one part}’ 
with deadly hatred would have hurled 
itself against the other, a mortal dan- 
ger had overtaken their brethren 
down in the mines, and imperiously 
summoned them from assault to res- 
cue. Arthur Tvas the first to recover 
his self-possession. 

“To the mines!” he cried to his 
officers, who now rushing out of the 
house gathered around him ; and he 
himself gave the example, as in ad- 
vance of all he hastened, to the works. 

“To the mines!” thundered Ul- 
rich also to the miners, but the com- 
mand was no longer needed : the whole 
mass, in bewildered haste, were already 
rushing in that direction, their leader 
at theiivhead ; he and Berkow were 
the first to reach the works, and both 


luck. 139 

reached them almost at the same 
moment. 

There was no outward evidence of 
the work of the destroying element, 
none but the dense pillars of smoke 
which rose above the shafts. These 
told what had happened, and they 
told enough. In less than ten min- 
utes the whole space around the 
mines was filled with men whose first 
dumb horror had now yielded to loud 
outbursts of anguish, terror, and 
despair. 

There is something terrible and j^et 
sublime in such a great misfortune 
which does not come from mortal 
hand ; for it almost alwa3^s redeems 
the honor of human nature, and puri- 
fies it from those baser passions which 
usually disfigure and overshadow 
it. 

Here the change in the people’s 
mood had been so sudden, so light- 
ning-like in its swiftness, that it no 
longer seemed the same mob which a 
few minutes before had raged around 
the house, menacing all its inmates 
with violence and perhaps murder, 
because their insane demands were 
not granted. Strife, hostilit3", hatred, 
fostered for months long, all had now 
subsided into the one thought of res- 
cue. To this rescue alike hurried 
miners and officers, friend and foe ; 
and the most violent of the rioters 
now led the band. An hour ago 
the3^ had threatened their comrades, 
had laid violent hands on them, and 
would have stricken them down if it 
had not been the father of Ulrich 
Hartmann who led them to the mines ; 
and now — when these ver3’ comrades 
were in mortal danger — now, evCTy 
one would have risked his life to save 
them. The fearful warning had 
borne its fruit. 

‘ ‘ Back ! ” cried Arthur imperiousl3’, 
as he confronted the bewildered, aim- 
less throng. “You cannot just now 
help : 3"ou only hinder the elforts of 
the officers. It must first be decided 
how and where w'e can enter the shafts. 
Let the chief engineer take the 
lead.” “ Let the chief engineer take 
the lead ! ” repeated the foremost ; and 
the cry went through the line, and the 
dense mass at once opened a path for 


140 


GOOD LUCK. ' 


that officer, who with his subordinates 
was already upon the spot. 

“ To enter dowui yonder will be an 
impossibility,” said the chief engineer 
to Arthur, pointing to the lower shaft, 
which was connected with the others, 
and at whose mouth smoke and vapor 
arose in mighty columns. “We have 
made the attempt, but in vain : 
nothing human can breathe in that 
infernal air. Hartmann tried it ; but 
after a few steps he retreated half- 
stifled, and had to bring out Lorenz 
with him, who had followed, but had 
fallen at the very entrance. Our 
only hope lies in the upper shaft. 
Set the machiner}" in motion : we 
inust ascend there.” 

The machine-master, to whom the 
last words were addressed, and who 
had stood near pale and agitated, 
made no motion to obey. 

“ The machines refuse to do their 
work,” he said in a voice of anguish : 
“ they have for an hour. I should 
before have announced this to the 
officers, but my messenger could not 
make his way to them through the 
mob, and I thought that in aii}^ event 
the miners could ascend through the 
lower shaft. We have already w'orked 
a long time upon the elevator, but in 
vain. It cannot be made availa- 
ble.” 

“Heaven and earth! do they fail 
us now ? ” cried the chief engineer, 
rushing into the machine-house. 

‘ ‘ But the footway-shaft ? ” said 
Arthur hastil}’’, turning to the director. 
“ Can we not go down there? ” 

The director shook his head. 

‘ ‘ The footwa3^-shaft has been impas- 
sable since this morning. You know, 
Herr Berkow, that Hartmann had all 
the upper ladders destro^’ed because 
he would at any price hinder the 
descent of the miners. He did not 
fully succeed : the w^orkmen went 
down the main shaft, and at present 
this is our only entrance into the 
mines.” 

Ulrich now appeared, with Wilms 
and several of his usual companions. 
“ Nothing is going on down there,” 
he said to his comrades, as he made 
his way through all. “We are sacri- 
ficing life needlessly when we ought 


to be rescuing it. Perhaps we can do 
so here. Whj^ is the elevator not at 
work? We must go down b}" its 
help.” 

As he was violently rushing forward, 
he suddenly met the the young chief, 
who gazed sternly at him. 

“The elevator will not wwk,” he 
said loudly and sharpty : “it ceased 
an hour ago, and ten minutes ago the 
accident happened. These two events 
have no connection ; but it was just an 
hour ago we arrested 5^our three men. 
What had the}-" done, Hartmann?” 

Ulrich staggered back as if he had 
received a blow. “ I recalled my 
order,” said he, “ the moment my 
father w’ent down and the others fol- 
lowed. I w'ent myself to hinder its 
execution, but the mischief had 
already been done. I did not wish it. 
God knows I did not I ” 

Arthur turned from him to the 
chief engineer, who had just come out 
of the machine-house. “ Well, how 
is it ? ” he asked quickly. 

The oflJcer shrugged his shoulders. 
“The machinery will not Tvork,” he 
said. “ Still we have not been able 
to find where the trouble lies. The 
injury has not come from the explo- 
sion : it is from a human hand. If 
we do not succeed in repairing it, all 
entrance into the mines is denied us, 
and all below are lost without hope of 
rescue, the overseer Hartmann among 
them.” 

At these last words he had raised 
his voice, and fixed his eyes upon 
Ulrich, who with a face white as that 
of a corpse stood there dumb and 
motionless. But now he trembled, 
and made a hasty movement forward. 
Arthur stepped into his way. 

“ Where would you go? ” 

“ I must go down ! ” he said breath- 
lessly. “ I must help. Let me go, 
Herr Berkow. I must, I tell you ! ” 

“You cannot help,” interposed 
Arthur bitterly. “ AVe can do noth* 
ing with our arms alone. You could 
destroy, and make the danger tenfold. 
The work of restoration must be left 
to the officers. They alone can ma]?:e 
it possible for us to rescue our imper- 
illed workmen ; and they must be 
neither disturbed nor hindered in their 


GOOD LUCK. 


141 


task. Keep guard around here, 
Herr Director ; and you, Herr Wil- 
berg, bring the three prisoners here 
immediately. They must know where 
they have laid their hands. Perhaps 
they may give an intimation to the 
engineers. Hasten ! ” 

Wilberg obeyed, and the director 
also made preparations to carry out 
the commands of his chief. He met 
with no resistance. All knew what 
hung upon the efforts of the officers, 
and all obeyed willingly. They felt 
something of the truth of those words 
Herr Berkow had once flung back 
against the obstinate demands of 
their leader. “Try. all this, if the 
hated element is wanting which gives 
direction to j’our arms, force to your 
machinery, and intellect to your 
work ! ” 

Here were hundreds of arms, hun- 
dreds of strong men ready to help ; 
and the wdiole power, the whole possi- 
bility of rescue, lay in the hands of the 
few who must lend science to their 
work, so as to bring help, where the 
multitude and their leader could do 
nothing at the utmost but rush 
blindly into certain death. These 
officers, once so hated and despised, — 
upon them all glaj|ces now hung ; and 
w'herever one of them came in sight, 
all crowded around him. They would 
now at any cost have protected them 
and their work, had they needed such 
protection. 

Minute after minute passed in anx- 
ious, agonized suspense. Wilberg 
had long since returned with the three 
prisoners. They knew what had hap- 
pened. They came in breathless 
haste, like all the others ; like them 
to stand there aimless and despairing. 
They were no longer needed, for the 
reason of the stoppage of the machi- 
nery was already found. The injury 
had proved slight, and its immediate 
reparation was possible. The engi- 
neers, under the direction of their 
superior, did their utmost ; while out- 
side they organized their plans for 
rescue, and constantly, but still in 
vain, sought to force entrance into 
the mines on other sides. The dan- 
ger had, as at one stroke, firmly re- 
united the loosened bands of disci- 


pline. All obe5’ed, and obeyed better 
and more quickly than even before 
the outbreak of the revolt. 

But the chief himself accomplished 
more than all the rest. His eyes, his 
voice, were everywhere. Ever3rwhere 
he knew how to work himself, how to 
inspire others. A.rthur possessed little 
or nothing of the science and experi- 
ence so needed here. The young heir 
had been reared in the fullest igno- 
rance of what it most concerned him 
to know ; but one faculty he possessed 
which cannot be instilled by culture 
or training, — the genius of com- 
mand. And this was the faculty 
most of all wanted here, where the 
chief engineer, the only energetic one 
among the officers, was kept inside, 
occupied with the machinery ; and the 
director, as well as the others,, half- 
stunned at the sudden change of 
affairs and at the catastrophe itself, 
in spite of their science, experience, 
and capability, had all lost their 
presence of mind. 

It was Arthur who gave it back to 
them, — Arthur who with his quick 
glance posted every one in the right 
place, and incited all to do their 
utmost ; it was he who by his energy 
impelled and inspired all. The char- 
acter of this young man, «o long mis- 
understood by those around him and 
by himself most of all, had never 
shone forth so brilliantly as in this 
hour of peril. 

At last was heard the heavy, groan- 
ing sound with which the machinery 
resumed its work ; then followed the 
panting and creaking of its mighty 
frame, at first fitfully and interrupted- 
ly, then at regular intervals. The 
works rose and fell with their wonted 
obedience. The chief engineer stepped 
to Herr Berkow, but his face had be- 
come no more cheerful. 

‘ ‘ The machinery is again in order,” 
he said, “ but I fear it is too late or 
too early for the descent. The vapor 
rises even here. The fire-damp must 
again be breaking out. We shall 
have to wait.” 

Arthur made an impatient gesture. 
“Wait! We have waited a whole 
hour already, and the lives of these 
unfortunate men hang upon every 


142 


GOOD LUCK. 


moment. Do you. think it T\*ill be 
possible to go down ? ” 

“ It is perhaps possible ; this seems 
to be only vapor which rises here ; 
but every one who goes down risks 
nis life. I would not venture.” 

‘ ‘ But I will ! ” cried Ulrich w’ith 
grim determination. At the moment 
when the machineiy began to w’ork, 
he had rushed violently forward, and 
now stood close by the shaft. “I 
will go down,” he repeated ; “ but one 
alone can do nothing there. I must 
have help. Who goes with me ? ” 

No one answered ; every one 
seemed to recoil from a descent into 
this smoking abyss. They had all 
seen how the courageous ones w^ho at 
the first had sought to force an en- 
trance had reeled back or fallen. 
Lorenz still la}^ senseless from a ven- 
ture which his stronger comrade had 
made without injuiy. But no one 
possessed the courage fo follow Ul- 
rich in a descent where return or re- 
treat were almost impossible. 

‘ ‘ Wo one 9 ” asked Ulrich after a 
pause. “Very well, then, I will go 
alone. Give the signal ! ” 

He sprang into the seat ; but sud- 
denly a small white hand was laid 
upon its blackened edge, and a clear 
voice said firmly, “ Wait, Hartmann ! 
I go with 3^ou.” 

A cry of horror from the lips of the 
assembled officers gaA'e answer to 
this decision ; from all sides arose the 
most violent opposition. 

“For God’s sake, Herr Berkow, 
do not go ! You are needless^ sacri- 
ficing your life. You cannot help ! ” 
These exclamations w^ere heard from 
all sides, and in every tone of horror 
and anguish. 

Arthur rose erect. The full self- 
consciousness of the lord and master 
flashed from his e3’es. 

“ I do not do this for aid : it is for 
the example,” he said. “If I go, 
others will follow. Do all possible 
above here to rescue us, Herr Engi- 
neer. The director wall maintain 
order. For the moment, I have noth- 
ing to offer my workmen but courage ; 
and that I intend to show them.” 

“But not alone, and not with 
Hartmann,” exclaimed the chief engi- 


neer, almost forcing him back. “ Be- 
ware, Herr Berkow ! It is the same 
elevator and the same company 
which proved fatal to j^our father ; 
and below there something might 
menace 3"ou more dangerous than the 
ex]Dlosive fire-damp.” 

It was the first time the accusation 
had been publicly and boldty made 
in the presence of the miners ; and 
although none ventured to join in it, 
the face of all betra3’ed that they 
fulh’ believed it. Ulrich 3’et stood in 
his place silent and motionless ; he 
did not contradict ; he did not defend 
himself: but his eyes, with stead3’, 
open gaze, were fixed upon the 3’oung 
chief, as if from that mouth alone he 
expected absolution or condemnation. 

Arthur’s glance met his for a 
moment 01113’ ; then he broke loose 
from the strong arms W’hich sought to 
restrain him. 

“Below there in the mines there 
are more than a hundred lost men if 
we do not help them ; and there I 
think no hand will be raised but to 
save. Give the signal ! Lend me 
3’our arm, Hartmann. You must 
help me.” 

Trembling, Ulrich reached forth his 
arm to give the required assistance. 
The next minute, Arthur stood at his 
side. 

“ As soon as we arrive safe below,” 
he said, “send down all who wish 
and are able to follow us. GlucJc 
auf! ” “ Gliick auf! ” repeated Ulrich 
in a hollow voice, but with the same 
firmness. It had a weird, almost 
ghost-like sound, this salutation which 
both men threw up from the depths 
of the abyss w’hich now received 
them. The elevator sank slowl3\ 
Those standing above saw only how 
the young chief, giddy at the strange 
descent, stupefied at the vapor now 
happily but faint, reeled backward, 
and how with a quick movement 
Hartmann placed his strong arm 
around him and held him up ; then 
both vanished in that suffocating pit 
of vapor. Arthur was right. His 
descent decided all, while that of 
Ulrich remained without effect. They 
were accustomed to see the steiger 
Hartmann imperil his life for im- 


GOOD LUCK. 


143 


measurabty less cause than this, and 
always to rescue it unharmed ; so that 
there was already among his comrades 
a sort of superstitious belief that no 
danger could reach him. It was he who 
had made the footway-shaft impas- 
sable ; and his attempt upon the eleva- 
tor had caused more than an hour’s 
delay, and his father was down there 
with the others, lost, perhaps, through 
his act ; and so, as a matter of course, 
he would without hesitation rush into 
a danger none else could wish to 
share. 

But when the chief set the ex- 
ample, — this delicately-reared, aristo- 
cratic man, who had never entered his 
mines when they were supposed to 
be safe, and who now forced his way 
down when death threatened every 
one ; as he went before, so all fol- 
lowed. Next him were the three 
miners who this morning had laid 
their hands upon the elevator, which 
now carried them down under the 
guidance of one of the engineers. 
Then came new, and still new helpers : 
no exhortation, no command, was 
needed. The chief engineer very 
soon had to keep back the rushing 
throng because the services of only a 
part could be made available. 

Hour sifter hour went b}". The sun 
had long since reached the meridian, 
long since neared its setting ; and still 
belovf there, in the bosom of the earth, 
human intellect and human will con- 
tended with the destroying elements, 
to wrest from them their sacrifices. 
It was a battle more terrible than 
could have been fought in the light of 
da}^ ; eveiy foot’s-breadth must first be 
conquered, every step be won in the 
face of mortal danger, to make it a 
possibility to press forward ; but they 
still pressed forward, and it seemed 
as if these unheard-of exertihns 
would receive an unheard-of rewhrd. 

Universal sympathy was awakened 
for these unfortunate men ; al,l hoped 
to rescue them, for the}" still lived, or 
a part of them at least. happy 
accident, the discovery of twb miners 
lost or bewildered in their baste to 
escape, furnished the right clew. The 
explosion seemed to have only par- 
tially affected the upper shaft, and the 


miners must have had time enough to 
flee for refuge to one of the secure 
side-passages, where the vapor could 
not reach them, but where the falling- 
in of a portion of the outside wall 
had blocked them up, and cut off 
their escape. The aim of the rescu- 
ers was now to work through to their 
comrades, by a way which at least 
seemed possible ; and to the carrying- 
out of this hastily-formed and reason- 
able plan all lent their utmost en- 
deavors. 

‘ Lven if the whole earth lies 
above them, we must make our way 
to them ! ” Ulrich had exclaimed as 
the first clew was found, and this had 
become the rallying-cry of all. There 
was not one who quailed, not one who 
shunned the perilous duty imposed 
upon him. With most, strength and 
ardor kept equal pace ; and yet, not to 
increase the number of victims, many 
had to be sent back exhausted and 
half-stupefied, to be replaced by new 
helpers. There were only two whom 
nothing moved, nothing wearied, — 
Ulrich Hartmann with his iron body, 
and Arthur Berkow with his iron 
will. This will to-day had lent that 
tenderly-reared, frailly-built man 
nerves as of steel, and helped him to 
endure amid surroundings and in dan- 
gers to which so many stronger men 
were not equal. 

Both held out ; side by side they 
pressed forward, always in advance, 
always the first. While Ulrich’s 
giant strength accomplished almost 
incredible things, and triumphed over 
obstacles which seemed invincible to 
human hand, it sufficed to the “mas- 
ter ” that he stood at the head, that 
he was the head. He could in truth 
not do much more than inspire the 
men v/ith courage for their work ; but 
this was enough, far more than his 
arm could have accomplished. Three 
times already had the hand of his 
more experienced companion snatched 
him back, when, unacquainted with 
the dangers of the mines, he had im- 
prudently exposed himself ; repeatedly 
the chief engineer had entreated him 
to turn back, now that there were men 
enough to help, and officers enough 
to assist ; every time Arthur most 


144 


GOOD LUCK. 


decidedly refused. He felt liow much 
depended upon his remaining among 
the workmen, who from mutinj^ and 
sedition had hastened to this work 
of rescue. They all looked upon tlie 
chief, who, since he had been aroused 
to self-dependence, had alwa3^s been 
opposed to them, and who to-day for 
the first time stood with them in need 
and death ; who like the humblest of 
them perilled his life ; like them, had 
left up above there a 3’oung wife in 
mortal anguish. 

In this hour of common labor and 
danger there was at last extorted 
from them the confidence the3" had so 
long denied. There below in the 
depths of those rocky mines, the old 
hatred and the old dissension were 
buried ; there the quarrel ended. 
Arthur knew that for him the remain- 
ing here meant more than a mere risk 
of his life, which an3" other in his 
place might have offered ; he knew 
that by this perseverance, he con- 
tended for the future of his works ; and 
for this price he left Eugenie alone in 
her anguish, and remained. 

The work went on with unwearied 
energ3^, unwearied persistence. The3" 
pressed forward slowly, step by step, 
but still they pressed forward ; and 
soon the malicious powers of the 
mines 3delded to the will of men who 
had forced a path to their brothers 
there below. When the sun above 
neared his setting, the way to rescue 
had been found, and the rescued were 
lifted up to the light of day, wounded 
indeed, half suffocated, stupefied b3' 
terror and mortal agon3", but still liv- 
ing ; and 'there followed them, as it 
were wearied, to death, the rescuers. 
The chief and Hartmann, the two 
foremost in this heroic undertaking, 
were the last to return : the3’ would 
not leave the mines until all were 
saved. 

“ I do not know what it means that 
the chief and Hartmann still linger 
down there,” said the chief engineer 
anxiously to the surrounding officers. 
“ The3' were alread3^ at the outlet 
when the last men were brought up ; 
and Hartmann certainl3" knows the 
dangers of the mines too well to linger 
a moment longer than necessity de- 


mands. The elevator still waits be- 
low ; the3" give no sign, answer none 



“ What if an accident should hap- 
pen at the very last moment ! ” said 
Wilberg nervousl3X ‘ ‘ J ust now I heard 
a strange noise in the mines, just as 
the last men came up. The distance 
was too great, and the creaking of the 
elevator too loud, for me to distinguish 
plainly ; but the w^hole earth around 
seemed shaken. I only hope that no 
falling-in of the shafts has followed.” 

‘ ‘ God grant that it ma3^ be so ! ” 
cried the chief engineer. ‘ ‘ Give the 
signal with all 3"our might ! If it re- 
mains unanswered, we must go down 
and see what has happened.” 


XXI. 

But, before he or the others could 
cany out this decision, the signal for 
ascent was quickly and violently 
given from below. All above ground 
breathed more freel3', and pressed 
nearer to the mouth of the shaft, in 
which, after a short dela3", the elevator 
appeared. 

Ulrich stood upon it, his face dis- 
torted b3’ pain and blackened by the 
soot of the mines, his clothes torn and 
covered with earth and gravel, while 
blood oozed from his forehead and 
temples. As at the descent, his arms 
were around the 3'oung chief; but 
now he supported not merel3' a stag- 
gering man. Arthur’s head lay upon 
his shoulder. The face was white as 
death, the e3’es were closed, and 'the 
form hung lifeless and motionless in 
the arms which held it upright only 
by the exertion of all their strength. 

A cry of horror rose from all sides. 
The men • scarce waited until the ma- 
chine stood still. More than twent3’ 
arms were outstretched to receive the 
unconscious man and bear him to his 
wife, Tvho,dike all the others, during 
the whole time had not moved from 
the scene of the accident. All crowd- 
ed aroud Arthur and his "wife. They 
called for assistance, for the physician ; 
and none in all the confusion had a 


GOOD LUCK. 


145 


thought for Ulrich, "who, strangelj’^ I 
sileut and submissive, had let them I 
take the burden from his arms. 

He did not spring witli his wonted 
quickness and agility from the eleva- 
tor ; slowly, painfully, he stepped out, 
and had to grasp twice at the chain 
for support. Not a s^dlablewas heard 
from him ; but the young miner’s teeth 
were set in silent agony, and the 
blood now flowed in a torrent, al- 
though, under the thick coating of 
dust and soot, none saw that in death- 
ly pallor his face quite equalled that 
of the young chief. He staggered a 
few steps forward, until near the group 
which was now pressing around 
Arthur ; then he suddenly paused, and 
with both arms embraced the pillars 
of the building for support. 

Calm yourself, my lady : it is only 
a swoon,” consolingly said the physi- 
cian Avho had hastened to the aid of 
Arthur Berkow. ‘‘I do not And that 
your husband has sustained the slight- 
est injury. He will recover.” 

Eugenie did not hear the comforting 
words ; she saw only the closed ej'es, 
only the prostrate form which gave 
no sign of life. 

There had been a time in this 3 "oung 
wife’s experience, when only a few 
hours after her marriage a stranger 
hand had rescued her from mortal 
peril, and she was still in uncertainty 
as to her husband’s fate, — a time 
when with cool self-composure, almost 
indifference, she had said to the res- 
cuer, “ See after Herr Berkow ! ” 

That sin of coldness and disdain 
was now bitterl}^ atoned for b}^ the 
anguish of these last hours, in which 
she had learned what it means to 
tremble for the loved one without 
being able to help him, or even to be 
near him. Now she allowed no other 
at his side ; now she knelt by his pros- 
trate form, and, like any other wife, 
in hopeless agon}’, called her hus- 
band’s name, 

“ Arthur ! ” 

It was a cry of passionate love, of 
utter despair ; and, as it rang forth, a 
convulsive quiver passed through the 
frame of the young miner, who still 
leaned against the pillar for sup- 
port. 


Yet once again he turned his mel- 
ancholy blue eyes, and fixed them 
upon both ; but in them there lay 
nothing of the old hatred and de- 
fiance, only a deep, silent agony. 
Then their glance was veiled ; the 
hand rose, not to the bleeding fore- 
head, but to the breast, which, though 
it bore no wound, he pressed tightly, 
as if there were the w’orst pain of 
all ; and at the very moment when 
Arthur, in the arms of his wife, opened 
his eyes, Ulrich fell senseless behind 
them. 

Although all had been rescued from 
the mines, a strange silence and op- 
pression rested upon the assembled 
throng. No shouts, no exj^ressions 
of joy, were audible : the appearance 
of the rescued men forbade. They 
did not yet. know who w’ould reaUy be 
restored to life, or if death\might not 
yet demand the victims Tnlh su6h dif- 
ficulty snatched from his grasp. The 
young chief had recovered from his 
sw’oon more quickly than had been 
hoped. It had been a caving-in of 
earth which at the very last moment 
had struck him and his companion, 
but which, strange to relate, had not 
wounded Arthur in the least. He 
again stood upright, although still 
weak and pale, and, leaning upon his 
wife’s arm, tried to collect his scat- 
tered thoughts so as to answer her 
anxious inquiries. 

“We had already reached the out- 
let of the shaft, Hartmann some steps 
ahead, and therefore in safety ; then 
he must have remarked some token of 
danger. I saw him suddenly rush 
back to me and grasp my arm : but 
it was too late ; already all above 
and around us wavered. I only felt 
how he flung me to the ground, and 
threw himself over me ; I felt how, 
with his own body, he covered me 
from the down-rushing fragments ; 
then my senses left me.” 

Eugenie made no answer. She had 
so unspeakably feared the nearness of 
this man ! she had trembled with such 
indescribable terror Avhen she heard 
that Arthur was about to take this 
venture in his company ! And now 
she must thank his presence alone 


10 


146 


GOOD LUCK. 


that she held her husband alive and 
safe ki her arms. 

The chief engineer approached these 
two. His face was very grave, and 
his voice was deep and mournful as 
he said, “ The ph3’sician thinks the}’ 
will all recover, — all but one, and 
that is Hartmann ; him no help can 
avail. What he did down in the 
mines to-da}^ was too much for even 
his giant nature, and the w’ound has 
done the rest. I cannot at all com- 
prehend how, in spite of this severe 
Avound, he succeeded in lifting 3'ou up 
from the mass of earth and stones, 
Herr Berko w, in placing 3’ou in the 
elevator, and holding 3’ou fast until 
you came safe to the light of da}’. 
He did it, but he must atone for it 
with his life.” 

Arthur looked at his Avife. Their 
glances met, and each understood the 
other. In spite of his exhaustion, 
Arthur roused himself, and, grasping 
Eugenie’s hand, led her forth to the 
place w’here the rescued miners had at 
fii’st been taken to receive the aid and 
sympath}’ so abundantl}’ offered. 

Friends and relatives had borne 
awa}" all but one. Ulrich Hartmann 
la}’ stretched upon the ground. His 
father had not yet returned to con- 
sciousness, and kiiGAv nothing of the 
fate of his son ; but he was not alone, 
nor dependent upon straj,iger-aid. At 
his side knelt a young girl, who held 
the dying man’s head in her arms, and 
with an expression of heartrending 
agony gazed into his face, without in 
the least regarding her betrothed, Avho 
stood on the other side and held the 
hand of his friend, now growing cold. 
Ulrich did not see either : he perhaps 
did not know that they were near him. 
His wide-open eyes Avere fixed upon 
, the fiaming evening sky, upon the 
sinking sun, as if he Avould receive yet 
one beam of the eternal light, and 
take it Avith him over into the long, 
rayless night before him. 

Arthur had addressed a half-audible 
question to the physician who stood 
near ; he answered Avith a silent shrug i 
of the shoulders. The young chief j 
knoAv enough. Loosening his hand j 
from that of his Avife, he whispered j 
some Avords in her eai’, and thenj 


stepped aside, while Eugenie bent 
over Ulrich, and called his name. 

Then, even through the mists of 
death, broke forth a mighty flame. 
The AA’hole fire and passion of a life- 
time AA^ere for a moment concentrated 
in that glance Avhich Avith the fullest 
consciousness he gave the young wo- 
man, from w’hose lips came this low, 
sorrowful question, — 

“ Hartmann, are you severely 
wounded ? ” 

The agony of a feAv moments before 
again quivered through his features ; 
his voice sounded holloAv and broken, 
but calm. “ Why do you ask after 
me? You haA’e /am again. Why 
should I want to live ? I have already 
said to you, ‘ he or I.’ I certainly 
then supposed things would turn out 
quite differently from this ; but that 
threat passed through my mind when 
the wall fell in. I thought of you and 
of your sorrow ; and I remembered also - 
that he had reached me his hand as 
no other man would have done ; and 
then, then — I threw myself upon him 
to shield him from the impending 
danger.” 

He sank back. While he yet spoke, 
the spark, kindling into a fitful, mo- 
mentary gleam, Avent out ; but the 
wild, gloAA’ing life, Avithout pain or 
struggle, bled sloAvly and calmly away 
to death. 

The man whose whole existence 
had been only hatred and warfare 
against those Avhom destiny had placed 
above him had found his death in 
rescuing the chief he hated. The 
prophecy the waters of the stream had 
yesterday murmured in his ear was 
now Amified. From the depths of the 
mines, from a deed of self-sacrifice, 
the death-greeting had come to him. 
There Avas noAv no need that he should 
gaze with anxious foreboding out into 
a to-morrow so thickly veiled from his 
sight. With that to-morrow, all had 
ended for him, — all ! 

From the highway yonder sounded 
the measured tread of an advancing 
; host, Avords of command, and the 
i clatter of arms. The military help 
j expected from the garrison had ar- 
I rived to put doAvn the revolt. Im- 
i mediately upon entering the colony, 


GOOD LUCK. 


147 


the commanding officer learned what 
had happened ; and bidding his men 
halt, he had come, accompanied by a 
few of his subordinates, to the scene 
of the disaster, where he asked an in- 
terview with the chief. 

I thank 3’ou, colonel,” said 
Arthur Berkow with quiet gravity, 
“but you came too late. I do not 
need your help against my men. In 
a, mutual ten hours’ struggle for the 
lives of our miners, w^e have 
made peace, — let it be hoped for- 
ever ! ” 


XXII. 

Again it was summer ; again sum- 
mer’s splendor and sunshine lay upon 
wmoded hills and valleys, and over all 
the Berkow colony, where life, as stir- 
ring and vigorous as ever, had become 
more free and happy. There floated 
now, as it were, an atmosphere of 
freedom and prosperity over all the 
works, which had lost nothing in mag- 
nitude, while they had won all wdiich 
had been wanting to them. This 
certainly had not been a work of 
W'eeks or months : it had taken j^ears ; 
and the}^ had been full of anxiety and 
toil, — those years which had followed 
the catastrophe. 

When work upon the mines was 
resumed, a heavy burden lay upon the 
shoulders of the 3’oung chief, who, al- 
though he had made peace with his 
workmen, stood upon the brink of 
ruin. That time of danger, when by 
his personal courage and sacrifice he 
had opposed the excesses of a rebel- 
lious mob, wms over ; but now came 
other, graver duties, — a time of care, 
of stead}', arduous w'ork, of often de- 
spairing conflict with the might of cir- 
cumstance ; and these almost crushed 
Arthur to the earth. 

I'lbv-' the* first struggle he had 
learned and proved his strength f in 
the second he knew how to use it. 
For more than a ’3*ear it had remained 
doubtful whether the mines w'ould re- 
tain their organization or their pos- 
sessor ; and even after this first dan- 
gerous crisis was past, there were 


still enough dangers and losses to 
challenge the utmost endurance. 

During the later 3'ears of the elder 
Berkow, daring speculations, bound- 
less expenditures, and, above all, a 
S3'stera of operations based onl}" upon 
immedij^^e gain, — a S3'stem w'hose 
disastrous consequences had at last ' 
fallen upon the proprietor himself, — 
had imperilled both the Berkow posi- 
tion and fortune. The cessation of 
the works, wffiich for almost a month 
had lain idle, the accident in the 
mines, to repair which great sums 
w'ere necessaiy , threatened utter ruin 
to the already half-ruined chief. 
More than once it seemed impossible 
to maintain the w'orks ; more than 
once it seemed as if the W'ounds 
which past dissensions, and more 
than all this last quarrel, had inflicted, 
must be incurable ; but Arthur’s 
character, aroused at so late an hour, 
grew firm as steel, and became fully 
developed in this school of enforced, 
uninterrupted activity. 

All had tottered and threatened to 
collapse when, years before, the young 
chief had assumed the arduous task 
of creating a new order of things out 
of the chaos of business, obligations, 
and demands, which must first of all 
be arranged. But he had learned 
confidence in himself ; he had his wufe 
at his side ; and he had a whole 
future, a life’s happiness for her and 
himself, to win. This it was w'hich 
lent him courage, where perhaps any 
other would have given up, will-less 
and despairing ; this it was which 
sustained him w'hen the task seemed 
beyond his strength ; this it wms 
which at the last won for him the vic- 
tory. 

Now the last painful consequences 
of that catastrophe were overcome ; 
and the old prosperity had been re- 
stored to all the enterprises attached 
to the name of Berkow. But this 
name had been divested of its former 
ill-repute : it now stood pure and 
honorable before all the world. The 
wmrks, with their giant extent and 
their vast activity, were more firmly 
and securel}' grounded than ever be- 
fore, and with them also the wealth 
of their possessor. This w'ealth had 


148 


GOOD LUCK. 


once threatened to prove fatal to the 
3’oang, spoiled heir, and had in a meas- 
ure become so, because without elfort 
of his own a fortune had been laid at 
his feet, and he had regarded it with 
scornful indifference. Now, when in 
a struggle of 3’ears’ duration he had 
been obliged to win back the lost for- 
tune ; now, when in his hands it had 
become a blessing for maii}^, — it had 
also become of worth to him. 


It w'as toward mid-da^", and the 
director and the chief engineer were 
going 'home from the mines. Both 
had grown older with the lapse of 
3’ears, but the3" had not changed. 
The one had retained his good-nature, 
the other his malice, which once more 
gave intonation to his voice as he 
said, continuing the conversation be- 
fore begun, — 

“ The Herr Baron Windeg has an- 
nounced his coming through his eldest 
son. It seems the3’ now plume them- 
selves somewhat on a relationship to 
which at first the3’ vouchsafed to de- 
scend veiy much against their will. 
Since our business and our organiza- 
tion have received such w’onderfull3' 
flattering attention from government, 
those in higher places have become 
interested in us, and the -old aristoc- 
rac3" consider our works worth3" of 
representation at court. This son-in- 
law certainl3’ can rank with the AYin- 
degs. The whole Rabenau heirship 
and magnificence does not half equal 
the Berkow possessions and the influ- 
ence of our chief. The baron now 
sees that with his estates he is lost 
in the multitude of other^ proprietors, 
while we have become a power in the 
province to which no one an3^ longer 
denies recognition.” 

“But we are accomplishing more 
than an3’ of the other works,” said 
the director. “ The3’ are ever3’where 
stud3'ing our organization and our im- 
provements ; and 3'et none have imi- 
tated us.” 

“ Ah, 3’es ; and if things go on as 
now, we shall soon be ranked among 
those ‘ philanthropic institutions ’ 
against which the late Herr Berkow 
once so vigorousl3" protested. Well, 
God be thanlied,” — here the chief en- 


gineer raised his head wdth intense 
self-satisfaction, — “ we are able now 
to be one of these ! It does not at 
all embarrass us to expend upon our 
workmen sums that other proprietors 
must anxiousty hide in their pockets ; 
and these sums are not small. And 
3’et onl3’ a little while ago w’e had 
neither means nor influence, but had 
to struggle for the veiy existence of 
the works ; and we could not have 
saved them if, at the decisive crisis, 
two lucky accidents had not come to 
our help.” 

“ And if our miners had not con- 
dueted themselves so excellentl3’,” 
added the director gravel3’. “ It w’as 
no slight thing for them to remain 
calm while mutiny and insurrection 
continued all around us upon the 
other works. That accident in the 
mines cost us vast expenditures of 
mone3’ when eveiy thousand was dif- 
ficult for us to obtain ; but I believe 
that with these outlays we have not 
paid too dearl3' for what we have won 
from our workmen. No man forgets 
to-da3’, none will ever forget, those 
hours of anxiet3’ and danger our chief 
shared with them in the mines to 
rescue their comrades. These have 
bound him and his miners together. 
Since that da3^ they have believed in . 
him and in his promise to do all in his 
power to promote their interest, if 
the3" would 01113’ give him time and 
permission to proceed in the vray he 
thought best. The3^ have honorably 
w’aited, and it is no wonder that he 
has done more than he promised.” 

“ All very well ! ” said the chief 
engineer dryl3’. “ He can now afford 
himself some luxuries in the iva3’ of 
benevolence. But, under the circum- 
stances, it is a consoling fact that we 
are carr3’ing on a most flourishing busi- 
ness with our philanthrop3’, as our year- 
ly accounts prove. The3’ are far more 
'considerable than under the old re- 
gime, which could not be reproached 
with any especial philanthropic acts ; 
and still at that time all that could 
be forced out of the works was forced 
out of them.” 

“ You are an incorrigible scoffer ! ” 
said the director angril3’. “ You 
know best of all that Herr Berkow 


GOOD LUCK. 


149 


does not allow himself to be actuated 
by such motives.” 

“ No, he is too much of an idealist 
for that,” replied the chief engineer, 
taking the reproach very indifferently. 
“ llappily he is no more so than 
accords with practice, for he has been 
led through too bitter a school not to 
know, that, in the end, the practical 
must remain the foundation and 
prime condition of all such efforts. 
For my part, I am no idealist: you 
must know that.” 

The director laughed somewhat 
maliciously". “Yes, we all know 
that,” said he ; “ but may it not in a 
measure change matters, when such 
a highly ideal element as Ilerr Wil- 
berg enters y-our family"? That is 
very" soon to happen, is it not, Herr 
Colleague?” • 

By" this reminder the director 
seemed to have returned a sly- thrust 
to his colleague ; for the latter drew 
down his face, and said petu- 
lantly", — 

“ Don’t speak of this to me again ! 
I hear enough of it at home. That 
must suffice me, — me, who detest 
nothing so much as sentimentality 
and affectation ! And even for me, 
destiny" seems to have raised up a 
prospective son-in-law who makes 
verses and play"s the guitar ! The 
fellow is not to be got rid of, with his 
wooing and his sighing ; and Melanie 
will not listen to reason. But I have 
not yet said‘ Yes,’ and it is doubtful 
if ever I do.” 

“ Well, we will leave all that to 
Melanie,” laughed the director. 
“ She has her father’s obstinacy" in 
many* things, and knows how to cany 
out her will. I can assure you 
that AFilberg alr.eady goes about with 
an air as if certain of victory", and 
waives all congratulations with a very 
expressive ‘ Not yet The two young 
people must feel sure of simcess. 
Adieu, dear colleague ! Will y’ou not 
announce this joyfful family event to 
me first of all ? ” 

This time the malice w-as on the 
director’s side, and it seemed to have 
its effect ; for, with a very decided air, 
the chief engineer mounted the.c^teps 
of his dwelling, where his daughter 


already had come to meet him. 
Fraulein Melanie to-day showed an 
extraordinary tenderness for her fa- 
ther. She kissed him, she took his hat 
and gloves, she flattered him a little ; 
and, after these preliminaries, took 
him aside to make a request of 
him. 

“ Papa, there is some one here w"ho 
wishes to speak with you,” she said ; 
“ who wishes to speak at once and 
urgently, lie is within with mamma. 
Shall 1 bring him out ? ” 

“I am not to be spoken to 1 ” 
growled the father, who already sus- 
pected what lay" before him. But the 
y’oung girl did not take the slightest 
notice cf the refusal. She vanished 
into the adjoining room, and the next 
minute pushed out the “ some one,” 
after she had hastily whispered a few 
encouraging words in his ear. 

The latter precaution seemed neces- 
sary ; for Herr Wilberg, w"ho, with his 
blonde hair carefully" brushed, pre- 
sented himself in a dress-coat and 
other especial tokens of the official 
wooer, stood there as if he had un- 
awares been cast into a lion’s den. 
He had prepared an elegant, well-ar- 
ranged speech for this momentous oc- 
casion ; but the grim mien of his 
superior officer, w"ho in any other 
than an encouraging tone asked what 
he could possibly" w"ant of him, made 
him quite forget it all. 

“My w"ishes and hopes stam- 
mered he ; “ emboldened by the af- 
fection of FrMein Melanie — the 
highest happiness to be able to call 
her mine ” — 

“ I thought as much. The man 
cannot make even a sensible pro- 
posal ! ” muttered the chief engineer, 
not thinking that the reception he 
had given poor Wilberg w-as quite 
enough to deprive any w-ooer of his 
self-possession. But as the y-oung 
man grew more and more embar- 
rassed, more involved in his speech, 
he cut short his w"ords. 

“Now just be silent! It is cer- 
tainly no secret to me what y"Ou w"ish 
and iiope. You wish to have me for 
a father-in-law.” 

Wilberg looked as if this last un- 
avoidable appendage to his futiu-e 


150 


GOOD LUCK. 


marriage inspired him with no espe- 
cial rapture. 

‘ ‘ I beg your pardon : I wished 
first of all to have Friiulein Melanie 
for my wife,” remarked he timid- 

ly- 

‘‘ Ah ! and you very unwillingly take 
me into the bargain ? ” asked the en- 
raged father-in-law in spe. I cannot 
at all understand how 3*011 dare come 
to me with such a proposal. Have 
3*ou not loved her lad3^ship? Have 
3*ou not filled sheet after sheet with 
verses to her? Why do 3"Ou not go 
on with this Platonic love ? ” 

“Good heavens! that was years 
ago ! ” pleaded the3^oung officer in self- 
justification, “ Melanie knew that long 
ago ; and it was that ver3^ thing which 
brought us together. There are two 
kinds of love, m3* dear sir, — a 3"outhful 
enthusiasm which seeks its ideal in 
unattainable heights, and another en- 
during affection which finds upon the 
earth alone what can really make it 
happy.” 

“ And so my daughter is good 
enough for this earthl3", home-bred 
love ! Get out with 3^our non- 
sense ! ” cried the chief engineer in a 
rage. 

“ You will not understand me,” 
said Wilberg deeply wounded, but 
still with some self-possession. He 
knew what a powerful ally he had 
in the next room. “ Melanie under- 
stands me ; she has already given 
me her hand and heart.” 

“That is a prett3" state of things 1” 
growled the enraged father. “If 
daughters thus unhesitatingly make 
presents of their hands and hearts, 
1 would reall3" like to know what 
fathers are for. Wilberg,” — here 
his voice became somewhat milder, — 
“I do 3*011 the justice to sa3’ that 
during these last few 3"ears you have 
become somewhat more sensible, 3’et 
not sensible enough b3^ a great deal. 
For example, 3^011 have never been 
able to leave off this poetizing. I 
w*ould wager that 3*ou even now 
carr3^ some l3*ric about 3*011.” 

He leered rather suspicioush^ at the 
young man’s breast-pocket. Wilberg 
blushed. “As a betrothed man, 
might I not legitimatel3* do this?” 


he remarked in a timid, questioning 
way. 

“Ah, yes! and serenades too,’ 
this will be a beautiful summer,” 
muttered the chief engineer despair- 
ingl3*. “See here, Wilberg! if I 
did not know that Melanie has my 
nature, and will carr3* out this roman- 
tic whim in spite of me, I should sa3* 
‘No,’ ab3olutel3" Wo.' But I believe 
3*ou need a sensible wife, and, above 
all things, a sensible father-in-law 
who from time to time will set 3*our 
head right. And so, as I really can- 
not help m3*self, I will let you marry 
each other.” 

Whether the latter acquisition 
seemed a very enviable one to Herr 
Wilberg may well be doubted ; but, in 
his rapture over the former, he forgot 
all else, and hastened to embrace the 
prospective father-in-law, who made 
rather short work with this formalit3*. 

“No sentimentalit3* ! ” he said vefy 
decidedly. “ I cannot suffer it, and 
we need not delay for this. Now 
come with me to Melanie. You long 
ago planned all this behind m3* back ; 
but I tell 3*011 if I ever catch 3*011 
making verses, and my child with red 
weeping e3*es, then Heaven help 
you!” 

While the chief engineer thus 3*ield- 
ed to an inevitable destiny, up on the 
terrace of the countr3"-house stood 
Arthur Berkow and Curt von Windeg. 
The latter, who had already bidden 
adieu to his sister, was waiting for 
his horse to be led up. 

The deep and might3’’ change 
Arthur’s inward being had experi- 
enced was also visible outwardl3*. 
He was no longer the delicate, slen- 
der, pale 3*oung man, whose 3*outhful 
strength and freshness had so nearly 
been lost b3* his life in the Residence : 
his appearance now fulh* coincided with 
the idea one would naturall3* form of 
the chief who knew how to conduct 
such giant enterprises with such en- 
ergy. In truth, the lines which had 
so early been engraven upon his fore- 
head, and which 3’ears of care and 
toil had deej^ened, had not been ob- 
literated by the fortune and the future 
now so seem’d}* and j)ermanently 


GOOD LUCK. 


151 


established. If such lines once find 
place, they do not lightly vanish ; but 
they did not ill become this forehead 
and these features, where all \vas 
strengthened to a firm, earnest man- 
hood. -Curt remained the young, 
high-spirited officer, whose lively 
eyes and fresh lips had lost nothing 
of their brightness and merriment. 

“ And I tell 3'ou, Arthur,” he said 
excitedly, “ 3’ou do papa wrong if 
you imagine he has still any preju- 
dice against you. I wish you could 
have heard with me how he answered 
old Prince Waldstein, when he de- 
clared that our mining proprietors, in 
the present state of excitement and 
insurrection among the workmen, 
could have no enviable position. 

‘ This cannot at all apply to my son- 
in-law,’ said papa with full aplomb : 
“ he stands too firmly in his position, 
and has too unlimited authority 
among his workmen, who really idol- 
ize him; and my son-in-law is cer- 
tainly equal to any emergency.’ 
But he will never forgive 3'ou for hav- 
ing refused the diploma of nobility ; and 
he cannot become reconciled to hav- 
ing his grandson bear the plebeian 
name of Berkow.” 

A somewhat disdainful smile played 
around Arthur’s lips. “Well, I do 
not intend that the name shall be a 
disgrace to my boy,” he said, “ when 
he bears it out into the world ; and I 
hope your father may live to see him 
placed beside a young Windeg. How 
stands it with your betrothal. Curt?” 

The 3’oung officer drew down his 
face. “ Well,” drawled he, “I sup- 
pose that will be the next thing to 
happen when we are again in Rabe- 
nau. Count Berning’s estates join 
ours, and the Countess Alma will be 
eighteen next spring. Papa thinks 
that in my position of head of the 
house and future heir, it is time I 
seriously thought of marriage. He 
has commanded me to make propo- 
sals to the young countess this sum- 
mer.” 

Commanded?*' laughed Arthur. 
“ And will 3’ou marry at command?” 

“ Well, what did you do, then, in 
your marrying?” asked Curt rather 
pettishly. 


“ Ah yes ! you are right. But with 
us it was an exceptional case.” 

“ And it is not at all one with us,” 
said Curt indifferently. “ It is usually 
so in our circle. Papa wishes to see 
me married soon, and according to 
my rank : and he will allow no contra- 
diction unless from you. You have 
so impressed him that whatever you do 
is sure to please him. But I have no 
particular objections to the marriage ; 
only I would like to remain longer 
free.” 

Berkow shook his head. “I be- 
lieve you do quite right in this case, 
Curt, to submit to your father’s wish- 
es. Alma Berning, so far as I could 
remark at our last visit to Rabenau, 
is an amiable girl ; and it is really 
time for the future heir to step for- 
ward, and for the wild young lieuten- 
ant to retire. He has played some 
mad pranks, this lieutenant.” 

Curt petulantly flung back his head. 

“Ah, yes! and from the paternal 
side, on all such occasions, his broth- 
,er-in-law is held up before him as a 
pattern, and loaded with such extrav- 
agant praises, that, if it were not for 
the young officer’s firmly-grounded 
preference for this much-extolled ex- 
emplar, he might come to hate him 
thoroughly. And from just here 
springs that plan for my marriage. 
One time, at a scene of paternal ad- 
monition, I ventured to say, ‘ Arthur 
was once far wilder than I, and now, 
as a married man, he has become 
3'our highest t;yq)e of excellence ; ’ and 
then and there papa secretly formed 
the idea of making just such a model 
husband out of me 1 Well, for my 
part, I have nothing against Alma ; 
and, besides, I will take an example 
from Eugenie and you. With perfect 
indifference, even with a perfect hatred, 
you came together in marriage, and 
have at last founded a real romance 
which is not j-et ended. Perhaps we, 
too, shall be as happy.” 

An unmistakable expression of 
irony passed over Arthur’s lips. “ I 
doubt that, dear Curt,” he said: 
“ you do not seem at all created for a 
romance after marriage ; and, above all 
things, remember every woman is not 
an Eugenie.” 


152 


GOOD LUCK. 


Tlie 3’oung baron laughed aloud. 
“I thought that was what I was 
going to hear again. With exactly 
the same tone, Eugenie said’ to me 
this morning, as we were speaking 
upon this subject, ‘ You will not rank 
Arthur with other men, will you?’ 
You really are spinning out your 
honeymoon to a great length.” 

“We had to renounce it at the be- 
ginning, and must doubly atone for 
the delay. Can you really not remain 
longer ? ” asked Arthur. 

‘ ‘ jM}' leave of absence extends only 
to this evening. I come principally 
to announce the visit of my father and 
brothers. Auf Wiedersehen^ Arthur ! ” 

He swung himself upon his horse, 
gave another farewell greeting to his 
brother-in-law^, and galloped aw^a}". 
Arthur was just going into the house, 
when an old miner appeared on the 
terrace, and took otf his hat to his 
chief. 

“ Ah, Overseer Hartmann?” said 
Berko w cordiall3\ “ Would 3'ou speak 
with me ? ” 

The overseer approached respect- 
full3* and 3^et confidentiall3\ “ With 
3’our permission I would, Herr 
Berkow. I have just been up 3’onder 
at m5^ post, and saw 3^ou take leave 
of the young baron. Then I thought 
1 w’ould come and thank you for hav- 
ing made Lorenz master-miner. \It 
has given great jo3’ in our house.” 

“ Lorenz has during these last 
years showm such efficiency that he 
deserved the post ; and wdth his in- 
creasing famity, he must need it.” 

“ Well, he has enough for wife and 
children : I see to that,” said the over- 
seer good-humoredl3'. “It was a 
sensible idea in Marflia to make him 
agree to live in 1113^ house ; so I am 
not quite alone in m3" old age, and 
have great jo3" in their children. If 
it were not for them, I should have 
nothing in the wide w'orld.” 

At these last words the old man’s 
face grew sad, and his eyes moist. 
Arthur looked S3"mpatheticall3^ down 
on him. 

“ Can you never get over this sor- 
row, Hartmann ? ” he asked. 

The overseer shook his head. ‘ ‘ I 
cannot, Herr Berkow. He w’as m3" 


onl3^ one ; and although he too often 
caused me more sorrow than 3*03", al- 
though at the last, w"ith his uncontrol- 
lable nature, he quite broke aw"a3"from 
me, I cannot forget Ulrich. Merciful 
God ! W"h3' must I, an old man, be 
rescued w ith all the others, to endure 
this? AYith that one all else w’as 
buried from me.” 

“You should not speak so, Hart- 
mann,” said Arthur, gently chiding 
him. “ You have still a firm depen- jf 
deuce in Martha and her husband.” 

The old man sighed. “Yes, in 
Martha ! She also, like me, cannot 
get over this trouble. Although she 
has husband and children, and a good 
husband he is, I see man3" a time how 
it is at her heart. It is a strange 
thing with man3" people, Herr Berkow. 
The3" can cause us anguish and miseiy, 
can grieve us to the inmost heart, and 
still w’e love them better than the 
noblest and best, wdio have never 
given us a sorrowful hour ; we cannot 
loose our thoughts from them. Such 
a one was my Ulrich. What he was 
to his comrades before that unfor- 
tunate quarrel broke out, none before 
or after him has been ; and, though no 
blessing followed where he led them, 
they have not to this da3" forgotten 
him.” ' 

The old man wiped the bitter tears 
from his e3’es as he grasped the hand 
Arthur had offered in silent S3nnpath3", 
and went quietly awa3\ Eugenie, 
w"ho during the last moments had ap- 
peared in the door w"ithout wishing 
to interrupt the conversation, now 
stepped to her husband. 

“ Can Hartmann never be recon- 
ciled?” she asked softly: “I never 
supposed that he loved his son so 
decpl3" and passionatel3’.” 

Arthur gazed after the retreating 
form. “I comprehend that,” he said, 

“ as I comprehend the blind devotion 
of his comrades. There w-as something 
mightily fascinating in the nature, in 
the w"hole individualit3", of this man. 

If I experienced this, — I w ho had to 
wTestle w"ith him for life and death, 
how much more those for whom he 
w"restled ! What might this Ulrich 
and his follow'crs not have accom- 
plished, if he had only understood his 


GOOD LUCK. 


153 


mission in tho world to bo something 
other than hatred and destruction to 
all existing things ! ” 

The young wife looked almost re- 
proachfully up to her husband as she 
replied, “And yet he proved^ to us 
that he could do something else than 
blindly hate. He was your avowed 
enemy ; but, when only one of you two 
could be saved, he wrested you from 
destruction, and plunged into death 
himself.” 

A shadow passed over Arthur’s 
face, which might well grow sad at 
the remembrance of that time. “I, 
of all, have least right to accuse him,” 
said he ; “ and I have never done so 
since his hand rescued me from cer- 
tain death. But, believe me, Eugenie, 
entire reconciliation with such an 
element would never have been pos- 
sible. He would always have im- 
perilled the future of my works, pre- 
vented peace with my workmen, and 
have forced me to a continual struggle 
for the master}^ ; and things between 
us had been carried too far for me to 
allow him to go on unpunished. If 1 
had not accused and condemned him, 
others would have done so. This has 
been spared to him and to us.” 

Eugenie leaned her head upon her 
husband’s shoulder. It was still the 
beautiful blonde head with the dark 
eyes, but the face was rosier and sun- 
nier than in the early days of her 
married life. 

The old pallor and marble-like cold- 
I ness had vanished from its expres- 
sion, which was now beaming with 
happiness. 

“It was a sad time, Arthur, that 
which followed the catastrophe,” she 
said with a voice slightly tremulous. 


“ You had a terrible battle to fight, 
so terrible that my courage often 
threatened to give way utterl}-, when 
I saw your brow always clouded, your 
eyes alwa^'s sad, and I could still do 
nothing but remain at your side.” 

With the deepest tenderness he 
bent over her. ‘ ^ And was that not 
enough, my Eugenie?” he said. “ In 
that struggle I proved the might of 
two words which alone gave me joy- 
fulness and courage, and which often 
and again bore me up when the waves 
threatened to overwhelm me. They 
at the last have helped me to victory : 
My wife and m 3 ’ child ! ” 

The sun stood high in the clear 
summer heaven, and threw its beams 
upon the Berkow house and its flower- 
gemmed terraces, upon the works in 
the distance, where all this thousand- 
fold life and activit}’ had developed in 
such mighty and many-sided forms, 
that it seemed indeed no small thing 
to be called ruler of such a world. 
And these same sunbeams shed their 
gloiy around the mountains, with 
their forest-crowns upon their heads, 
and that deep, m 3 "sterious life throb- 
bing within their bosoms. 

The sombre realm, which these 
rocky anus would fain have eternall}’ 
enfolded in their embrace, and shut 
out fi^^m every mortal gaze, had still 
been compelled to open to the intel- 
lect of man. Science had forced those 
barriers, and had wrested from the 
clefts and ab 3 ’sses of the earth those 
treasures so long imprisoned in deep- 
est night. And now they had been 
borne upward to the light of day, 
unfettered by that ancient magic 
word of the mountains, Gluck Auf! 


THE END. 


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CHARLES READE’S NOVELS. 

# 

HOUSEHOLD EDITION COMPLETE. 

UNIFORM, COMPACT, LEGIBLE, HANDSOME, CHEAP. 

■ ■■ « » 

The popular Household Edition of Mr. Readers Complete Novels is comprised in 

Ten Volumes, as follows : — 

Foul Play 

Hard Cash. 

White Lies. 

GrifHth Gaunt. 

Love . me Little, Love me 
Long. .... 

Price, $ 1.00 a volume. The Set in a neat box, $ 10.00 ; Half Calf, $ 22.50. 


1 vol. 
1 vol. 
1 vol. 
1 vol. 

1 vol. 


Never too Late to Mend. 1 vol. 

The Cloister and the Hearth. 1 vol. 

Peg Woffington, Christie 

J ohnstone, and Other Stories. 1 vol. 

Put Y ourself in His Place. 1 vol. 

A Terrible Temptation. . 1 vol. 

Illustrated. 


“ This edition of Charles Reade’s novels is somewhat similar in style to the well-known * Charlei 
Dickens ’ series, issued by the same firm. The volumes are all neatly bound, well printed, and com- 
pact, with the facsimile signature of Charles Reade prominently displayed on the outside. We are 
glad to welcome such an acceptable addition to the American library of modem English literature. 
After Dickens, no English author of the day appeals so directly to all branches of the English-speaking 
race as Charles Reade. Although most of his works are intensely English in local coloring, his hatred 
of class injustice, of petty social spites and prejudices, of official wrongs and abuses, and his warm 
sympathy with all the fresh and true impulses and instincts of humanity, secure for his works appre- 
ciative readers wherever the English language is spoken. Charles Reade’s works all deserve the widest 
circle of readers, within whose reach they can be brought, and we are glad to find that the task of 
placing them before the American public in a tasteful and convenient library form has been undertaken, 
and so well executed, by those so thoroughly qualified for carrying it out as the publishers of the 
present series.” — New York Times. 

• 

“ A very pretty edition of Charles Reade’s novels, just such a one as has long been desired by his nu- 
merous admirers in this country. It can hardly help meeting the success it deserves, from its taste and 
elegance, no less than from the conspicuous merits of its author.” — Liberal Christian. 

“ The volumes are neatly printed and of convenient size. Mr. Reade is one of the most vigorous of 
modern writers of fiction. And in all his works he has a high moral aim, as the exposure of some evil 
that demands correction.” — New York Observer. 

“ The new, uniform, elegant, and cheap edition of Charles Reade is just in time to take the tide of the 
story-teller’s great and deserved popularity.” — The Western Bookseller ( Chicago). 


For sale by all Booksellers. Sent, post-paid, on receipt of price by the Publishers, 

JAIflES R. OSGOOD & CO., Boston, 

Late Ticknor & Fields, a»d Fields, Osqood, & Co. , 


JUST PUBLISHED 


A TllIBUTE TO THE CENTENARY OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


SIR 


WALTER SCOTT: 

The Story of his Life. 


By R. SHELTON MACKENZIE. With Portraits and Illustrations. 1 vol. 12mo. 


$ 2 . 00 . 


T he dlstinj^ishod Utferafeur, Dr. R. Shelton Mackenzie of Philadelphia, has been for some time 
engaged upon a life of Sir Walter Scott; and the centenary of the author of the Waverley Novels, 
celebrated on the 15th of August, appropriately suggested the publication of the volume in connection with 
that notable event. 

Tbo lapse of nearly fifty years that bas passed since Scott penned his last work has not wasted the 
freshness and interest of his writings, nor lessened the fascination of their nobility of thought, artistic pic- 
turesqueness, and truthfulness. 

The author has, as an appropriate and lasting tribute to the mcmor 5 ' of his distinguished fellow-coun- 
trynjan, prepared this biography of Scott, which is designed to fill a place from which the magnitude and 
expense of more voluminous biographies exclude them. It is that of 

A Popular Life of “ The Ariosto of the North,” 

containing, in a convenient and accessible form, minute details of bis varied and eventful experiences, the 
fruits of Dr. Mackenzie's profound study and enthusiastic admiration of his subject. Headers of Scott’s 
works will find in this work something more than a mere biography, and welcome the volume as an agree- 
able and valuable companion to his writings. 

Dr. Mackenzie is well known as an enthusiastic admirer and profound student of Scott; and we can 
well imagine that his transcript of the incidents, sayings, and life-work of his illustrious fellow-countryman 
has been a labor of love to this eminent scholar and accomplished writer. 


*** For sale by all Booksellers. Sent, postpaid, on receipt of price by the Publishers, 

JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO., Boston. 

Late Ticknor & Fields, and Fields, Osgood, & Co. 


JUST PUBLISHED. 

Charles Reade’s Last Great Novel, 

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION. 

Complete in 1 vol. Fully Illustrated. Paper, 30 cents ; Cloth, $1.00. 


By special arrangement with the author of this Story, which has excited a profound 
Bcnsation in all portions of the world where the English language is read, the Publish- 
ers are enabled to give the only authorized edition of the Story, xvith the Author’s latest 
revisions and corrections, accompanied by the original illustrations, complete in book 
form, simultaneously .with its appearance in Bngland, and in advance of its issue by any 
other publishers iu this country. 


“ Messrs. James R. Osgood & Co. have just published Charles Reade’s story, ‘A Terrible Temptation,’ 
complete io book form. This will be the earliest publication of the whole story in thi.s country, and simul- 
taneous with its publication in England. Those who have read the chapters published from week to week 
for some months past in Every Saturday, know well enough how extremelj’ interesting it is; and, for the 
benefit of those who have not yet seen any part of it, it may bo said, that it will rank* with the most power- 
ful and fascinating w’orks of its author. This is only another way of s.nying that in the qualities of plot and 
dramatic incident, and intensity of passion and force of narration, it is as great a story as any man now 
living has written.” — Boston Daily Advertiser. 

“ It opens in all the freshness and abounding sparkle of his style, and the daring freedom and original- 
ity in which this author is conspicuous. All Avho enjoy a good healthy and delightful story of modern times 
should not fail to secure ‘ A Terrible Temptation.’ ” — N. Y. Globe. 

“ It is such a novel as only Charles Reade could have written, in Its fertility of invention, wealth of in- 
cident, originality, dramatic power, intense characterization, and startling innovations upon the literature 
of fiction. This prompt issue is the ‘ author’s edition,’ sent out simultaneously with the appearance of the 
work in England. It is sure of a multitude of readers, and equally sure of any amount of criticism. Reade’s 
genius is undeniable, however bold and unconventional the maimer in which he has chosen to exercise it in 
the present instance.” — Boston Transcript, 


*** For sale by all Booksellers. Sent, postpaid, on receipt of price by the Publishers, 

JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO., Boston. 

Iat£ Ticknor & Fields, and Fields, Osgood, & Co. 



■WSKi’ 


CHARLES DICKENS’S WORKS. 


ONLY AUTHORIZED AMERICAN EDITIONS, 


“ By a Special Arrangement marie with me and my English Publishers (Partirers 
with me in tlie Copyrignt of my Works), Messrs. Ticknor & Fields, of Boston, have 
become the only authorized. Bepresentatives in America of Khe whole Series of my 
Moolis. CHABLES BICKEJSS.” 

« > 


I. THE DIAMOND EDITION. 


A model of elegance and compactness. Its beautiful typography, tinted paper, striking illustra- 
tions, tasteful binding, and low price make it a favorite with all classes. 

Complete in Fourteen Volumes. 

Price, Cloth, $ 1.50 a volume ; Half Calf, $ 42.00 a set. 


II. THE CHARLES DICKENS EDITION. 

A popular edition, produced with great care, beautiful, durable, and cheap. Each volume bears on 
its title-page a fac.-simile of Mr. Dickens’s autojrraph, and each right- 
hand page has a head-line affixed by Mr. Dickens. 

Complete in Fourteen handsome Volumes. 

Price, Cloth, $ 1.50 a volume ; Half Calf, $ 42.00 a set. 


ni. THE ILLUSTRATED LIBRARY EDITION. 

The standard edition for the Library. Carefully printed from large, clear type, profusely illus- 
trated by the best English Artists, and elegantly bound. 

Complete in Twenty-seven Volumes. 

Price, Cloth, $ 2.00 a volume ; Half Calf, $ 100.00 a set. 


rv. THE ILLUSTRATED HOUSEHOLD EDITION. 

Uniform in size and shape with the popular Household Editions of AVaverlet Novels, Charles 
Reade’s and George Eliot’s Novels, Thackeray’s and Miss Thackeray s 
Works, published by Fields, O.sgood. & Co. Each volume has 
16 Full-Page Illustrations by S. Eytinge, Jr- 
Complete in Fourteen Volumes. 

Price, Cloth, $ 1.50 a volume ; Half Calf, $ 42.00 a set. 


For sale by all Booksellers. Sent, post-paid, on receipt of price by the Publishers, 

JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO., Boston. 

Late Ticknor & Fields, and Fields, Osgood, & Co. 


V • 


A genial exponent of the best sort of American thought” 
AMINER (London). 


The Ex- 


BACKLOG STUDIES. 

By CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER, 

AUTHOR OF “MY SUMMER IN A GARDEN,” “S A U N TERINGS,” etc. ^ 

Witk Twenty-one Illustrations by Augustus Hoppin. 

1 vol. Small quarto. $!2.00. 

. This delightful volume has been greeted with remarkable unanimity as one of the wittiest, 
freshest, most wholesome books in American literature. The humorous genius which irradiated 
Mr. Warner’s previous volumes, “My Summer in a Garden” and “ Saunterings,” pervades these 
“ Backlog Studies,” and lends them an indescribable charm. 


NOTICES OF THE PRESS. 


Boston Advertiser. 

The light of the great wood fire falls sidenvise and 
glancingly on many questions of social science and house- 
hold economy, and though it determines none, it helps us 
to see them with cl->arer vision than we frequently get 
from more serious disquisitions. But the chits about 
criticism, the great New England pie-line, the furnishing 
of r joins, the progress of civilization, the worth of Orien- 
tal clissics, the work of reformers, women novelists, the 
clothes question, Gothic architecture in modern churches, 
life at Concord, speech and custom iu Boston, social 
popularity, misdirected energy, the personality of authors 
in their books, the value of the stage as a mirror of nature, 
— the best of the book is not in anything of this sort. 
And it is easier to say in what the best is not, than to de- 
fine precisely in what it is. Who can catch and deliver 
over the real charm of an evening by the fireside with 
half a dozen clever people? 

One might say that the studies are wise and witty, 
and tender and fanciful, and incisive and shrewd, — all 
that is true, b.it the whole truth is something more. 
There is a certain sober dryness and whim;ical serious- 
ness about them which sets Mr. Warner apart from other 
humorists of our time. His individuality is that of a 
Yankee who has seen a good deal of life beside what is 
found iu a library. The reading of his book is almost as 
solid enjoyment as that of stirring up a wood fire, — it 
would be an evidence of superior virtue in a married man 
to let his wife read it first. 


Cliicago Times. 

The tone of thought is bright, with a sunny, genial 
spirit, and fertile in suggestiveness. It is rarely that we 
find a more pure, racy, limpid style, and a more graceful 
knack of expression than in these bright fireside talks. It 
makes pleasant holiday reading, pleasant summer read- 
ing, in despite of thi idea of blazing backlogs and a roar- 
ing hearth involved in the title, — in short, delightful 
reading for any time of the year. Mr. Warner’s previous 
books gave him a happy reputation for a fresh, racy, 
pure Anglo-Saxon style, and the last effort will most as- 
suredly not betray that reputation. 


Philadelphia Bullet in. 

Delicious essays, full of good things as a pudding is 
full of jilums, always, as the author himself remarks pf 
Dr IlolmeSj “ saying the same things you wish you had 
said yourself,” always genial, humorous, feasting eye and 
mind with intellectual fat things ; it is a book among a 
thousaud aud uae, that should be in every family. 


Buffalo Courier. 

It is easy enough to begin the w< rk of picking out the 
beauties of this book, but the difiBculty is to know where 
to end. The fire kindled by the author wakes a host of 
memories, and we know instinctively the characters he 
draw.s, from the millionnaire who pointed out to his wife 
a famous picture by Rubens as “The Kape of the Sar- 
dines,” to the Boston person who reads the Kig-Veda at 
his breakfast-table instead of the morning paper. But 
take the book for yourself reader. Don't go through it as 
if it were a task, but take it up and read it a study at a 
time. It has the way of talking which an old,, familiar 
friend uses, and as you go about your work, its words 
will come back again and again, with added volumes 
of suggestivenfcss. It is not the sentimental musings 
of a youth, but the gentlest and finest experiences of a 
man of maturity. 


Boston Courier. 

The pervading charm of the book is its naturalness. 
The style, while highly itfined and scholar-like, is as un- 
affected and easy as fireside talk. This is esp» dally true 
of the later essays iu the book, wherein the author aud his 
friends hold discourse upon various forms of life and 
manners. They speak, each man iu his own tongue, as 
iu (he unrestricted freedom of friendship. There is, too, 
a quiet, delicate humor, which gives piquancy to all they 
say, whether it be about the Gothic architecture of our 
day, or modern reform, or aught else. But the book is 
not only very pleasant reading, — it is very suggestive, 
and you carry the flavor of it in your brain long after 
you have put it on the shelf. It is worthy of a place 
beside those old essayists who sanctify a library. 


Baltimore Gazette. 

When the firm of James R. Osgood & Co. get hold of a 
good thing they take care that it shall not want a fitting 
accompaniment of binding and typography, dainty little 
etchings for illustrations, wide-margined paper, and fault- 
less press-work, fc-uch a good thing is Mr. Charles Dud- 
ley Warner’s “ Backlog Studies,” and such justice has 
b en done to the book by its publishers. “Backlog 
Studies” is full of quiet, quaint humor, aud has con- 
firmed the reputation Mr. Warner won by “ My Summer 
in a Garden.” 


New York £ veiling Post. 
A delicious volume. 


For sale by Booksellers. Sent, post-paid, on receipt of price by the Publishers, 

JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO., Boston. 


LIFE. 


ENIGMAS OF 

By W. R. GREG. 

1 vol. ... . 12mo. • . , $2.00. 


CON TENTS. Realizable Ideals. — Malthus Notwithstanding — Non-Survival of the Fittest. 

Limits and Directions of Human Development. — The Significance of Life. — De Profundis. — Else- 
where. — Appendix. 

“ What is to be the future of the human race ? What are the great obstacles in the way of prf^gress ? "What are 
the best means of surmounting these obstacles ? Such, in a rough statement, are some of the problems which are more 
or less present to Mr. Greg’s mind ; and although he does not pretend to discuss them fully, he makes a great many 
observations about them, always expressed in a graceful style, frequently eloquent, and occasionally putting old subjects 
in a new light, and recording the results of a large amount of reading and inquiry.” — Saturday Review. 


“ It would be unfair to deny to these essays very great ability. The style is clear and vigorous ; the amount of 
thought and power displayed is considerable. Many of the remarks on our social condition, on the prevention of dis- 
ease, on the forces which act on population, are exceedingly valuable, and may be read with much advantage.” 

The Illustrated Review {Ljondon). 


*‘The whole set of Essays is at once the profoundest and the kindliest that has for some time tried to set people 
a-thinking about themselves and their destiny.” — Daibj Telegraph {London). 


“Mr. Greg is fertile, vigorous, and suggestive in his. thinking ; he is a thoughtful, earnest, independent, and well- 
informed man, who really faces the problems he discusses.” — Boston Globe. 


“ Full of writing of singular force and singular candor.” — The Spectator (London). 


MYTHS AND MYTH-MAKERS: 

OLD TALES AND SUPERSTIITONS INTERPRETED BY COMPARATIVE MYTHOLOGY. 

By JOHN PISKE.' 

1 vol. ... 12mo. ... $2.00. 


“ It is both an amusing and instructive book, evincing large research and giving its results in a lucid and attractive 
style. The author’s purpose is to present old tales and suoerstitions as interpreted by comparative mythology. The 
seven chapters of the volume relate respectively to ‘The Origins of Folk Lore,’ ‘ The Descent of Fire,’ ‘ Werewolves and 
Swan-Maidens,’ ‘ Light and Darkness,' ‘Myths of the Barbaric World,’ ‘ Juventus Mundi,’ and ‘The Primeval Ghost 
World.’ The volume is so rich in matter that the task of selection is difficult.” — Boston Globe. 


“ With the capacity for profound research and the power of critical consideration, he has a singular grace of style 
and an art of clear and simple statement which will not let the most indifferent refuse knowledge of the topics treated. 
In such a field as the discussion of old fables and superstitions aff >rdj, we have not only to admire Mr. Fisxe for the 
charm of his manner, but for the justice and honesty of his method.” — The Atlantic Monthly 


“ Mr. Fiske is a master of perspicuous explanation. He has not laid claim to any originality In the present volume, 
but his most grudging critics must allow that his presentation of this intricate subject is simple and straightforward and 
at the same time scholarly.” — Mew York World. 


V For sale by Booksellers. Sent, post-paid, on receipt of price by the Publishers, 

JAMES H. OSGOOD & CO., Boston. 


£ 



BEING 


RecoUeetions of Six Years in the Royal- Palace at Bangkok. 

By Anna IIarriette Leonowens. 


With. 16 full-page Illustrations, from Photographs presenter! to the Author by the 
King of Siam. I'vol. Small 8vu. ^3.00. 


“ A series of graphic sketches, which at the same time throw great light on a condition of society to which there is . 
no parallel in We.stern civiliza’ion, and which aff rd a fruitful thrme for rt flection toth*' student of the various phases ' 
of human nature. H-r book carries every internal sign of acuce and faithful ol>serva'.ion, she writes in an agreeable 
style, present! .g a narrative that, in addition to the charm of personal interest, supplies a fund of original and valua- 
ble information on a country which lies beyond the usual rauge of foreign travel.’’ — JV'’e«7 Yurk Tribune. 

“ As characterizing the volume before us, however, the word ‘ freshness ’ is utterly inadequate, for the book is a rev- 
elation,' — the lifting of a curtain which has hitherto hidden from our view a peculiar and interesting people It is not 
an ordinary traveller s record of facts and impr ‘ssiiins ga hered haphazard, and not always verified : it is the matured 
and carefully arrang'd result of observation and experience during the author's six years' residence at the court of- 
Siam. Her i pportunities for studying her subject were the best possible, an<l her qualifications for the work, as raaui- ■ 
fested in the work itself, were in no degree inferior. Regarding this volume, both with resptct to its readableness 
and its positive value as a disclosure of the serai-civilization of a strange people, we must pronounce it the most strik-, 
ing book of its kind that has been published in a long time.” — The Litirary fVurld. 


If 

. I 


‘ The English Governess at the Court of Siam,’ portions of which have appeared in the ‘ Atlantic,’ is one of the ^ 
most remarkable any interesting books of the day. The author, Mrs. Leonowens, is a lady of extraordinary ourage, 
and writes in a graphic style which brings the strange life of the p»lace and kingdom before us in the most vivid 
fashion. No romance can be more fascinating than her description of the manners cf this remote and but littie known 
country. Especially interesting is the picture she gives of Buddhism with its remarkable correspondences to Chris- 
tianity in ducUiuea aud ceremonies.” — JVeu; Haven Palladium. 


THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM 



By Mrs. A. H. Leonowens, Author of “ The English Governess at the Siamese Court.’^ 

Illustrated. 1 vol. 13mo. $3.00. 


“■When we began to feel that the poetry of the Ea^t was exhausted, Mrs. Leonowens opened for us the door into , 
a land of romance as novel, as faescinatiog, and as sple.,did as any tlie Orient has ever shown us. In her ‘ English 
Governess at the Siamese Court’ we had a s )mewh it confused glimpse of it} but in ‘The Romance of the Harem ’ we 
have om' curiosity fully satisfied.” — Hartford Courant, 

“A fresh, original, and fascinating book, giving us a true picture of life under circumstances and conditions 
wholly new and strange to the American reader. It is not ‘ Romance ’ in the sense of fictitious and unreal, but in 
the sense of ‘ Truth stranger than Ficti>n_’; a revelation from an unknown land, of ideas, customs, Euoerstitious, be- 
liefs, social and domestic relations almost impossible to the realism of Western life and Ihought. The au'hor has 
invested the narrative with all the charms of romsne**, without subtracting at all from its historical character ; giving 
U3 mostly only what passed under her own ohservaMon, and what formed a part of her own experience and action, in 
the marvellous drama She has in fact addf-d a new chapter to the annals of the human race in what she has recorded 
of the government, court-life, laws, civil institutions, and populations of Siam ” — Universalist Quarterly. 

“Mrs. Leonowens's n“w book is as curious, ns strange, as striking, as forcible, and as well done as its most enter- 
taining and popular predecessor, and gives revelations of the more hidden asni'cts of Oriental life not less remarkable, 
intere -ting, and suggestive. The skiM of her pen is equal to the vigor of her judgment and the bravery of her soul, and 
that is saying a good deal.” — The Jiloming Star. 


*** Bor sale by Booksellers. Sent, post-paid, on receipt of price by the Publishers, 


JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO., Boston. 






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